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CARPENTER’S 
WORLD  TRAVELS 


Familiar  Talks  About  Countries 
and  Peoples 

WITH  THE  AUTHOR  ON  THE  SPOT  AND 
THE  READER  IN  HIS  HOME,  BASED 
ON  THREE  HUNDRED  THOU- 
SAND MILES  OF  TRAVEL 
OVER  THE  GLOBE 


"READING  CARPENTER  IS  SEEING  THE  WORLD" 


ALASKA 

OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 

Alaska  is  no  land  of  perpetual  ice  and  snow.  Wild  flowers  bloom 
everywhere;  delicious  fruits  and  vegetables  grow  to  great  size  and  ripen 
quickly  in  the  days  of  the  long  sun,  and  its  scenic  beauties  are  unsurpassed. 


CARPENTER’S  IVORLD  TRAVELS 


ALASKA 

OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 

BY 

FRANK  G.  CARPENTER 

LITT.  D„  F^RcCL-S. 


WITH  123  ILLUSTRATIONS 
FROM  ORIGINAL  PHOTOGRAPHS 
AND  TWO  MAPS  IN  COLOUR 


GARDEN  CITY  NEW  YORK 

DOUBLEDAY,  PAGE  & COMPANY 

1925 


7^3  6 


COPYRIGHT,  1923  BY  FRANK  G.  CARPENTER. 
ALL  RIGHTS  RESERVED.  PRINTED  IN  THE 
UNITED  STATES  AT  THE  COUNTRY  LIFE 
PRESS,  GARDEN  CITY,  N.  Y. 


2.  S - / 3 / 


9 / 9 ? 

G. 


ACKNOWLEDGMENTS 

IN  THE  publication  of  this  volume  on  Alaska  I 
wish  to  thank  the  officials  of  our  Government  at 
Washington  for  letters  which  have  given  me  the 
invaluable  assistance  of  our  authorities  in  the  Terri- 
tory. 1 thank  also  those  men  of  Alaska  at  the  head  of  its 
great  productive  undertakings  for  their  generous  courte- 
sies in  enabling  me  to  study  what  has  been  achieved  in  our 
northern  wonderland  and  according  me  privileges  seldom 
available  to  the  traveller. 

I acknowledge,  too,  the  assistance  and  cooperation 
rendered  by  Mr.  Dudley  Harmon,  my  editor,  and  Miss 
Ellen  McB.  Brown  and  Miss  Josephine  Lehmann  in  the 
revision  of  notes  dictated  or  penned  by  me  on  the  ground. 

While  most  of  the  illustrations  are  from  my  own  nega- 
tives, certain  photographs  have  been  supplied  by  the 
United  States  Department  of  Agriculture,  the  Forest 
Service,  the  Bureau  of  Education,  the  Coast  & Geodetic 
Survey,  the  Bureau  of  Fisheries,  the  Alaskan  Engineering 
Commission,  the  International  News  Reel  Corporation, 
the  Publishers’  Photo  Service,  and  Dr.  L.  S.  Sugden  and 
the  Canadian  Pacific  Railway. 

F.  G.  C. 


vii 


7 Z & 3 & 


CONTENTS 


\ 


CHAPTER 

I 


II 

III 


V 

VI 

VII 


XIII 

XIV 
XV 

XVI 

XVII 

XVIII 

XIX 

JCX 


Just  a Word  Before  We  Start  . 

Ketchikan 

The  Town  of  the  Good  Indians  . 
Alaska’s  Golden  Fisheries  .... 
The  Story  of  “Seward’s  Ice  Box”  . 

The  Thlingets  and  the  Hydahs  . 

Totem  Indians  and  Their  Customs  . 
Farm  Lands  of  the  Future  .... 

At  Juneau 

Treasures  Under  the  Sea  . . . . 

The  World’s  Greatest  Glaciers 
Skagway,  the  Gate  to  the  Klondike  . 
Over  the  Gold-Seekers’  Trail  . 

In  the  Yukon  Flats 

Winter  Tales  of  Tanana 

Hot  Springs  in  Cold  Lands  .... 
Fairbanks,  the  Chicago  of  Alaska  . 
Homesteading  Under  the  Arctic  Circle 
Thawing  Fortunes  out  of  the  Ice  . 
Stories  of  Gold  and  Gold  Miners  . 


PAGE 

I 

5 

1 3 
21 
32 
44 
52 
6o 
69 
78 

87 

96 

106 

1 1 5 
124 
133 
139 
148 
156 
162 


IX 


CHAPTER 


CONTENTS 


PACE 


XXI  Among  the  Old  Timers  . 

XXII  From  Fort  Gibbon  to  the  Sea 

XXIII  The  City  of  Golden  Sands 

XXIV  Creeks  that  Made  Millionaires 
XXV  The  Dog  Derby  of  Alaska 

XXVI  Reindeer  Meat  for  AmericanMarkei 

XXVII  Among  the  Eskimos 

XXVIII  School  Republics  of  the  Arctic  . 
XXIX  Fur  Seals  and  Fox  Farms  . 

XXX  The  Aleutian  Islands 

XXXI  The  City  of  Seward 

XXXII  Across  Kenai  on  Horseback  . 

XXXIII  Our  Northern  Game  Preserve  . 
XXXIV  The  Biggest  Thing  in  Alaska 
XXXV  Mount  McKinley,  the  “Most  High” 
XXXVI  The  Story  of  Kennecott  .... 
XXXVII  On  the  Copper  River  Railroad  . 
XXXVIII  Women  on  America’s  Last  Frontier 

Bibliography . 

Index  


169 
178 
183 
191 
197 
205 
2 14 
222 
230 
239 

1 

250 
256 
263 
271 
281 
289 
296 
302 
31 1 
3i5 


x 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


In  Our  Northern  Wonderland  . . . Frontispiece 

FACING  PAGE 

Eddystone  Rock 4 

Ketchikan  Mountain-side 5 

Making  Soundings 12 

Father  Duncan 13 

Salmon  in  Ketchikan 20 

Indian  Village 21 

A One-hundred-pound  Halibut 28 

Drying  Salmon 29 

Salmon  at  the  Spawning 29 

Sitka  Harbour 36 

Indians  at  Sitka 36 

Battle-scarred  Blockhouse 37 

“The  Lady  of  Kazan” 44 

Chilkat  Blanket 45 

Tools  of  Indian  Magic  45 

School  Gardens 48 

Indian  Cooperative  Store 48 

Indians  in  Native  Garb 49 

Totems  in  Marble 52 

Indian  Canoe 53 

Strawberry  Patch 60 

Pastures  Near  a Glacier 61 

Alaska’s  Rich  Harvest  61 

Alaska  Spruce 64 


xi 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


FACIN*  PAGE 


The  Pack  Horse 

Arctic  Oil 

Juneau ■ 

The  Governor’s  Residence  . 
Repairing  the  Planked  Streets 
Mills  at  Gastineau  . 

A Glacial  Lake  and  Falls  . 
Beside  a Glacier 

Taku  Glacier 

Flowers  and  Ice  . 

Where  Glaciers  Come  from 
To  a Glacier  by  Automobile 

Skagway  

Fourth  of  July  Celebration 
In  the  “ Flower  City  ” . 
“Soapy”  Smith’s  Memorial 

Mrs.  Pullen 

Staking  out  a Corner  . 
Athapascan  Mother  and  Child 

“Calico  Bluffs” 

International  Boundary 
On  the  Yukon  Flats 
Taking  on  Fuel  . 

Prehistoric  Ivory  . 

Bear  Drinking  Pop 
An  Outdoor  Cache  . 

When  the  Ice  Breaks  . 

At  the  Hot  Springs  . 

Mt.  McKinley  at  Night 
Library  at  Fairbanks  . 

A Snug  Home  . 

xii 


65 

68 

69 

76 

76 

77 

84 

85 

92 

92 

93 
93 
100 

100 

101 

104 

105 

108 

109 

1 16 

117 

1 '7 
124 

124 

125 
132 

1 32 

133 
133 
140 
140 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


PACING  TAGS 


Winter  Bridge  at  Fairbanks 
The  Homesteader  .... 

Pitching  Hay 

Roadhouse  on  the  Creeks  . 
Over  the  Winter  Trail  . 

Rex  Beach’s  Cabin 

The  “Sourdough’s”  Dog  Team 

Thawing  with  Steam  Points  . 

A Sluice  Box 

Miner’s  Shack 

Cleaning  Gold 

Nenana  Coal 

Hiding  from  the  Camera  . 

Ruby 

Iditarod 

Going  Ashore  at  Nome 
Nome’s  Log  Cabin  Club 
Going  to  the  Dance 
Hydraulic  Mining  . 

Panning  Gold 

The  Alaskan  Husky. 

Carrying  the  Mail  . 

Dog-team  Delivery  . 

Alaskan  Puppies 

Pupmobile 

Eskimo  and  Reindeer  . 

A Reindeer  Herd  . 

Reindeer  Awaiting  Slaughter  . 
St.  John’s  in  the  Wilderness  . 
Eskimo  Children  . 

Eskimo  Dress 


141 

148 

149 
156 

1 56 

157 
1 57 

164 

165 
172 

172 

173 

180 

181 
181 

188 

189 

192 

193 

196 

197 
204 

204 

205 
205 

208 

209 
209 

212 

213 
220 


xiu 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

FACING  PAGE 

The  Kayak 221 

Native  Dances 221 

Going  to  School 224 

Kivalina  Community  Council 225 

Manual  Training  at  Selawik 225 

Hospital  at  Kanakanak 228 

Young  Eskimos  228 

White  Fox  Furs 229 

Seal  on  the  Pribilofs 236 

Silver-gray  Fox  Pups 237 

Basket  Weaving 240 

Whale  Dance 241 

Waiting  for  a Seal . 244 

The  Beluga  Whale 244 

Kodiak • 245 

An  Old  Aleut  Home 245 

Resurrection  Bay 252 

Seward 253 

View  near  Resurrection  Bay 253 

Going  through  Kenai 260 

Fishing  in  a Kenai  Stream 261 

A Caribou 268 

The  Lynx 269 

Railroad  through  the  Mountains  276 

Snow  Sheds  on  the  Railroad 277 

View  of  Mt.  McKinley 284 

Climbing  Mt.  McKinley 285 

Bridge  at  Hurricane  Gulch 288 

Cordova 289 

Camp  in  the  Snow 292 

The  Bonanza  Mines •>.  293 


xiv 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

PACING  PACE 

Glaciers  along  Copper  River  . . . . / 300 

Keystone  Canyon  . . . . . . . . pi 

Driving  the  First  Spike.  304 

Homesteading 305 

The  “Two  Girls’  Waffle  House” 305 

MAPS 

Alaska  and  the  Klondike 24 

Alaska  and  the  United  States  Compared.  ...  56 


xv 


ALASKA 

OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


ALASKA 

OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 
CHAPTER  I 

JUST  A WORD  BEFORE  WE  START 

OF  ALL  the  countries  I have  visited,  our  Polar 
Wonderland  is  among  the  most  interesting. 
Lying  as  it  does  at  the  northwestern  end  of  the 
continent,  so  close  to  Asia  that  one  might  fly 
from  Alaska  to  Siberia  within  fifteen  minutes,  and  so  near 
the  North  Pole  that  an  airplane  might  make  the  trip 
between  breakfast  and  dinner,  it  forms  a part  of  our 
union  with  British  America,  tying  us  as  it  were  to  Europe 
and  Asia,  and  hooking  us  on  to  the  topmost  peak  of  the 
world. 

Alaska  is  truly  a land  of  surprises.  In  some  parts  the 
winters  are  as  mild  as  those  of  Virginia  and  in  others  as 
severe  as  in  Sakhalin  or  Kamchatka.  It  has  summers 
as  hot  at  midday  as  Bangkok  and  Rangoon,  and  so  cool 
at  night  that  one  welcomes  blankets.  It  has  seasons 
when  the  sun  shines  at  midnight,  and  winter  days  so 
dark  that  the  electric  light  can  be  turned  off  in  the  schools 
and  the  homes  only  from  eleven  to  one.  It  is  a land  of 
jungles  that  vie  with  the  Himalayas  in  their  dense  vegeta- 
tion, and  of  scanty  mosses  springing  from  desert  beds  of 
perpetual  ice.  It  has  gorgeous  wild-flowers,  mighty 
forests,  vast  glaciers,  mountains  capped  with  snow,  and 

1 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


valleys  out  of  which  spout  by  the  thousands  the  vents  of 
volcanoes.  It  is  beyond  conception  among  the  grandest 
of  all  nature’s  wonderlands. 

A most  interesting  feature  was  the  virgin  newness  of  all 
my  surroundings.  I travelled  for  days  through  the  wilds, 
seeing  hardly  a cabin.  1 sailed  on  the  rivers  through  long 
stretches  where  not  a vestige  of  man  could  be  seen,  and 
1 could  easily  imagine  myself  a Columbus  or  a Hernando 
de  Soto  discovering  a world.  When  1 crossed  Bering  Sea 
on  the  edge  of  the  winter  I felt  like  an  Arctic  explorer, 
and  in  the  Aleutian  Islands  the  perpetual  mists  chilled 
my  soul  with  the  fear  that  I had  on  the  Grand  Banks  of 
Newfoundland  when  the  fog  horn  blew  day  and  night. 

The  talks  of  this  book  are  the  notes  made  during  my 
travels.  They  were  written  on  steamer  and  on  train,  on 
foot  and  on  horseback,  now  in  motor  cars  riding  from  one 
mining  camp  to  another,  now  on  the  top  of  glacier-clad 
mountains,  and  now  in  tunnels  where  men  were  getting 
out  gold  from  under  the  earth.  They  represent  chats  with 
the  hardy  pioneers  of  our  farthest  North;  men  who  of  all 
our  citizens  are  the  most  patriotic  Americans;  men  who 
can  see  straight  and  shoot  straight;  the  survivors  of 
stampedes  to  many  a far-away  camp,  true  men,  and  strong 
men,  the  weaklings  having  died  on  the  way.  Indeed,  I 
met  no  one  in  my  journeys  who,  to  use  an  Alaskan  ex- 
pression, had  “a  wishbone  where  his  backbone  should  be.” 

When  1 started  north  1 had  a stomach,  and  lungs,  and 
liver,  and  lights.  All  seemed  to  be  ailing  as  I climbed  the 
gang  plank  of  the  ship  at  Seattle.  I lost  them  that  night; 
and  for  four  months  and  more,  as  far  as  I knew,  they  had 
no  existence.  1 ate  buckwheat  cakes  and  ‘‘sour  dough,” 
and  bear  meat  and  fat  pork  in  the  heart  of  midsummer; 


2 


JUST  A WORD  BEFORE  WE  START 

I breathed  champagne  in  the  air  of  the  mountains;  my 
liver  worked  like  a seventy-horsepower  automobile,  and 
as  for  my  lights,  whatever  and  wherever  they  are,  they 
were  dormant. 

Our  Northland  is  undergoing  a change.  The  Govern- 
ment is  adopting  a more  liberal  policy  as  to  the  territory. 
The  forest  and  oil  fields  are  being  exploited.  The  fisheries 
are  protected  and  the  catch  will  increase.  Fox  farming 
is  rapidly  becoming  a substantial  industry,  with  over  a 
hundred  farms,  the  majority  of  which  are  on  islands  along 
the  coast.  The  railway  from  Seward  to  Fairbanks  has 
opened  vast  areas  of  arable  land  to  the  homesteader, 
and  the  best  of  hard  wheat  is  now  grown  and  milled  in  the 
Tanana  Valley.  I rode  through  grasslands  where  the 
spears  on  the  ends  of  the  stalks  tickled  the  ears  of  my 
horse,  ate  strawberries  on  the  Arctic  Circle,  and  at  Skag- 
way  saw  dahlias  as  big  as  a dinner  plate. 

In  the  gardens  along  the  Yukon  and  Tanana  I dug 
potatoes  of  twenty-seven  varieties,  cut  off  cabbages  as 
big  as  the  head  of  a bull,  and  pulled  up  turnips  that  would 
surprise  the  best  soil  of  the  Temperate  Zone.  1 visited 
several  successful  dairies  near  Fairbanks,  and  on  Kodiak 
Island  found  a government  experiment  station  where 
they  are  raising  fine  cattle  and  sheep.  Near  the  mouth 
of  the  Yukon  I saw  hundreds  of  reindeer,  and  at  Nome 
visited  packing  plants  where  they  were  being  killed  and 
frozen  for  export  to  the  markets  of  our  larger  cities. 

At  the  same  time  new  mineral  areas  are  being  prospected, 
iron  of  good  grade  is  known  to  exist,  and  the  coal  deposits 
cover  a region  almost  as  big  as  the  mine  fields  of  Penn- 
sylvania. The  nickel  of  Chichagof  Island  is  supposed  to 
surpass  that  of  Canada  or  New  Caledonia,  and  high- 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


grade  tin  is  being  mined  on  the  Seward  Peninsula  near 
Bering  Strait.  The  government  geologists  and  others  are 
finding  new  wells  of  petroleum,  and  the  coal  beds  opened 
up  by  the  railroads  promise  a new  supply  of  fuel  for  the 
fleets  of  the  eastern  Pacific.  The  copper  output  is  now 
worth  tens  of  millions  of  dollars  a year,  and  rich  silver 
mines  are  being  worked  just  over  the  international 
boundary  near  the  Portland  Canal.  There  are  still 
fortunes  in  gold  underlying  the  beds  of  prehistoric  ice, 
and  more  quartz  gold  is  being  discovered.  Indeed,  the 
future  of  Alaska  is  bright. 


CHAPTER  II 


KETCHIKAN 

I AM  in  Ketchikan,  the  first  port  at  which  our  steamers 
call  in  entering  Alaska.  It  is  at  the  southern  end 
of  the  Panhandle,  the  strip  of  islands  and  mainland 
at  the  lower  end  of  our  territory  that  seems  to  be 
cut  out  of  British  Columbia.  The  Panhandle  begins 
just  above  Skagway  near  the  pass  over  the  mountains  to 
the  Klondike  and  Dawson,  and  extends  south  for  more 
than  three  hundred  miles.  It  consists  of  many  large 
islands  and  a strip  of  mainland  about  thirty  miles  wide 
which  runs  from  the  Pacific  Ocean  to  the  crest  of  the  coast 
mountain  range,  the  whole  making  a territory  as  big  as 
South  Carolina.  This  district  is  known  as  Southeastern 
Alaska.  It  has  its  own  climate,  its  own  vegetation,  and 
its  own  peculiar  products  and  resources.  It  is  covered 
with  green  from  one  year’s  end  to  the  other  and  differs 
from  the  great  Alaskan  interior  as  much  as  Maine  differs 
from  Florida.  I shall  be  travelling  within  it  for  some 
weeks  to  come. 

The  town  of  Ketchikan  lies  not  far  from  the  inter- 
national boundary.  It  is  only  forty  miles  north  of  the 
Canal  and  within  six  hours’  sail  of  Prince  Rupert,  the 
terminus  of  the  Grand  Trunk  Pacific  Railway  and  the 
port  which  the  Canadians  are  developing  as  the  gateway 
to  the  shortest  route  to  Japan  and  the  Orient. 

Ketchikan  is  as  far  north  of  Seattle  as  the  distance 


5 


ALASKA — OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


between  New  York  and  Toledo.  After  leaving  Seattle, 
I sailed  for  more  than  five  hundred  miles  through  Cana- 
dian waters  before  1 came  to  the  edge  of  Alaska,  and  from 
there  made  my  way  in  and  out  among  the  islands  to 
Revilla  Gigedo,  on  the  shores  of  which  lies  Ketchikan. 
The  trip  took  me  over  two  days. 

I despair  of  giving  you  any  idea  of  the  beauties  of  this 
voyage,  they  are  so  many  and  so  varied.  The  route  from 
Seattle  to  Skagway  is  known  as  the  Inside  Passage.  It  is 
a winding  in  and  out  among  half-submerged  mountains. 
It  is  floating  through  great  lakes  studded  with  islands. 
It  is  travelling  along  and  within  fiords  like  those  of  west 
Norway.  Now  you  have  the  wonders  of  the  Swiss  lakes, 
now  those  of  the  Inland  Sea  of  Japan,  and  now  scenery 
like  that  on  the  coasts  of  New  Zealand.  There  are  all 
sorts  of  combinations  of  sea  and  sky,  of  evergreen  slopes 
and  snow-capped  mountains.  There  are  ever-shifting 
colour  effects  and  marvellously  beautiful  sunsets. 

These  are  the  characteristics  of  Southeastern  Alaska. 
The  whole  district  between  the  Portland  and  Lynn  canals 
is  composed  of  islands  covered  with  evergreen  trees  many 
of  which  are  four  or  five  feet  thick.  A number  of  the 
islands  have  snow-capped  mountains  whose  green  walls 
rise  almost  straight  up  from  the  water.  Most  of  the 
mainland  is  also  one  mighty  wall  of  green. 

The  islands,  which  are  of  all  shapes  and  sizes,  float  upon 
sapphire  seas.  When  the  tide  is  low — and  the  tide  here 
rises  and  falls  to  the  height  of  a two-story  house — these 
islands  seem  like  floating  gardens.  Then  vegetation  does 
not  begin  until  fifteen  or  twenty  feet  above  the  water, 
and  there  are  only  precipices  of  black  rock  below.  The 
islands  are  bedded  upon  the  rocks  and  as  the  water  falls 

6 


KETCHIKAN 


the  living  earth  seems  to  be  lifted  up.  The  forests  sit 
aloft  on  pedestals  of  stone,  and  mountains  of  green  and 
white  tower  above  their  rocky  bases.  Here  bold  cliffs, 
brown  and  gray  walls  several  hundred  feet  high,  rise  sheer 
from  the  blue  waves;  there  the  bare  rocks  thrust  out  from 
the  growth  of  pines  on  the  hillsides. 

As  you  sail  on  to  the  northward  the  channels  vary. 
Now  they  widen  into  great  lakes,  now  they  are  rivers  as 
narrow  as  the  Hudson  or  the  Rhine.  Sometimes  the 
way  lies  through  gorges  between  the  islands  and  the  main- 
land. In  places  the  waters  are  a thousand  feet  deep.  In 
others,  there  are  great  rocks  as  steep,  as  high,  and  as 
sharp  as  the  Washington  Monument,  which  come  within 
twenty  or  thirty  feet  of  the  surface.  These  are  the  terrible 
pinnacle  rocks  that  rip  open  the  hulls  of  the  steamers. 
They  are  constantly  being  searched  for  and  marked  with 
buoys  by  the  wire  drag  of  our  Coast  and  Geodetic  Survey. 

Indeed,  the  seas  about  Alaska  are  so  dangerous  that 
they  are  sometimes  called  the  “Graveyard  of  the  Pacific.” 
The  commerce  of  the  territory  is  rapidly  increasing  in  im- 
portance, yet  fifty  years  after  our  purchase  the  United 
States  Coast  Survey  admitted  that  ninety-two  per  cent,  of 
its  waters  were  unsurveyed  and  that  it  would  take  two 
vessels  fifty-nine  years  to  complete  a first  survey  of  the 
exposed  areas,  in  addition  to  the  wire-drag  and  inshore 
parties  necessary  in  the  sheltered  portions.  The  Govern- 
ment’s ships  are  keeping  everlastingly  at  it,  however,  and  I 
have  been  out  with  one  of  the  wire-drag  boats  and  have  seen 
how  the  needle-tipped  peaks  of  the  Panhandle  coast  are 
detected.  A wire  cable  with  buoys  attached  is  slung  be- 
tween two  ships  and  set  at  a fixed  depth.  As  the  vessels 
sail  along  the  buoys  are  pulled  under  like  a fish-line  bob 

7 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


when  the  wire  strikes  a hidden  rock,  which  is  then  marked 
by  a float  and  its  position  recorded.  Over  a thousand 
pinnacle  rocks,  terrible  menaces  to  navigation  and  undis- 
covered by  the  ordinary  survey  methods,  have  been  found 
by  the  use  of  the  wire  drag. 

But  let  us  come  back  to  Ketchikan.  The  town  is 
situated  on  the  southern  shore  of  Revilla  Gigedo  Island,  in 
a region  where  the  salmon  come  in  great  hordes  every 
summer  and  near  banks  from  which  are  taken  most  of  the 
halibut  sent  from  Alaska  to  the  United  States  and  to 
Canada.  Revilla  Gigedo  is  about  one  third  as  large  as 
Porto  Rico.  It  is  fifty  miles  long  and  twenty  miles  wide 
and  is  made  up  of  mountains  which  for  much  of  the  time 
have  their  heads  in  the  clouds. 

Ketchikan  lies  right  on  the  water  against  a background 
of  towering  green  mountains  crested  with  snow.  The 
harbour  is  the  shape  of  a half-moon  protected  by  islands. 
It  has  no  beach  to  speak  of  and  the  business  district  rests 
upon  piles.  The  streets  are  plank  roadways  built  upon 
posts,  and  much  of  the  freight  is  carried  about  on  trucks 
and  carts  pushed  by  men.  Horses  are  unpopular,  for 
their  shoes  roughen  the  planks  and  they  shake  the  town 
as  they  trot  through  the  streets,  so  they  are  being  replaced 
by  automobiles  and  motor  delivery  trucks. 

The  residential  section  of  the  city  clings  to  the  sides  of  the 
cliffs  higher  up.  It  is  so  steep  that  one  has  to  climb  stair- 
ways to  reach  some  of  the  streets,  while  others  have 
winding  roadways  of  boards  upon  which  slats  have  been 
nailed  to  keep  one  from  slipping.  The  Ketchikaners 
make  one  think  of  tree  dwellers,  who  climb  ladders  to  get 
to  their  homes. 

The  best  houses,  which  are  high  on  the  cliffs,  far  above 

8 


KETCHIKAN 


the  harbour,  seem  to  grow  out  of  the  rocks.  Nevertheless, 
nearly  every  home  has  its  little  lawn  with  shrubs  and 
flowers  and  a tiny  garden  patch,  although  the  soil  has  to 
be  sprinkled  with  gold  dust  to  make  them. 

In  this  connection  the  captain  on  my  steamer  coming  up 
told  me  a story  of  a Ketchikan  man  who  sailed  with  him 
last  month.  This  man  was  sitting  at  the  captain’s  right 
hand  at  dinner.  During  one  meal  he  was  in  a brown 
study.  Course  after  course  passed  and  he  ate  but  little. 
At  last  he  burst  out  in  an  agonized  soliloquy: 

“I  knew  I’d  forget  it!  I knew  I’d  forget  it!  I knew 
I’d  forget  it!” 

“What,”  said  the  captain,  “have  you  forgotten  some- 
thing your  wife  told  you  to  bring  back  from  outside?” 
“Yes,  I have,”  was  the  reply.  “And  I knew  I’d 
forget  it.  She  made  me  promise  to  bring  seven  sacks  of 
good  soil  to  lay  on  the  rocks  and  make  her  a garden.  And 
now  I’ve  forgot  it. ” 

Some  of  the  Ketchikaners  raise  vegetables  and  berries. 
In  the  garden  of  H.  C.  Strong  I saw  raspberry  bushes  as 
high  as  my  shoulder,  which  for  more  than  two  months 
during  the  summer,  give  him  all  of  that  fruit  he  can  eat. 
The  berries,  which  are  large  and  of  a fine  flavour,  never 
become  mushy  when  ripe.  Ketchikan  also  raises  currants, 
salmon  berries,  and  many  beautiful  flowers.  There  is  so 
much  moisture  that  the  plants  will  grow  on  the  rocks  with 
very  little  soil. 

It  has  been  raining  steadily  ever  since  I arrived,  and 
to-day  during  a downpour  1 asked  one  of  the  citizens: 
“Does  it  never  stop  raining  in  Ketchikan?” 

He  replied,  with  a laugh:  “I  hardly  know,  I have  lived 
here  only  fifteen  years.” 


9 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


The  city  really  has  rain  for  more  than  two-thirds  of  the 
year  and  an  annual  precipitation  of  over  thirteen  feet. 
The  leaves  of  the  trees  drip  almost  as  steadily  as  those  of 
the  famous  forest  sprinkled  by  the  mist  of  the  Zambesi 
Falls  in  Central  Africa. 

Indeed,  the  southern  coast  of  Alaska  is  one  of  the 
rainiest  parts  of  the  world.  Juneau,  the  capital,  is  much 
like  Ketchikan,  while  on  some  of  the  Aleutian  Islands  a 
day  of  sunshine  is  a rarity.  But  the  people  go  about 
regardless  of  the  wet.  They  wear  oilskin  hats  and  rubber 
coats  or  slickers,  and  if  they  tramp  up  the  mountains 
they  put  on  rubber  boots  reaching  to  the  waist.  Some 
of  the  ladies  even  have  slicker  suits  consisting  of  skirts  and 
jackets.  No  one  thinks  of  staying  away  from  a party 
or  tea  on  account  of  the  weather,  and  women  go  visiting 
clad  in  oilskins  covering  dresses  fit  for  a party  in  New 
York  or  Washington. 

Some  people  here  tell  me,  however,  that  Ketchikan  has 
many  bright  days  and  that  its  climate  is  unsurpassed  by 
any  other  part  of  our  country.  The  inhabitants  are 
healthy.  The  children  have  bright  eyes  and  rosy  cheeks. 
They  play  about  everywhere,  notwithstanding  the  rain. 
In  the  winter  they  coast  down  the  board  roads  which  in 
places  run  for  more  than  a mile  up  and  down  the  hills. 
The  town  has  but  little  snow  at  any  time  of  the  year,  but 
then  the  frosts  are  so  heavy  that  there  is  splendid 
sledding  until  9 or  10  o’clock  in  the  morning.  If  there  is 
not  enough  frost,  the  roads  can  be  sprinkled  at  night 
and  will  be  covered  with  ice  in  the  morning. 

Many  people  of  the  United  States  think  of  all  Alaska’s 
winter  as  bitterly  cold.  Their  idea  of  the  country  is  ex- 
pressed in  Bret  Harte’s  “Arctic  Vision’’: 

10 


KETCHIKAN 


Where  the  short-legged  Eskimo 
Waddles  in  the  ice  and  snow, 

And  the  playful  polar  bear 
Nips  the  hunter  unaware. 

Ketchikan  has  neither  Eskimos  nor  polar  bears  and  there 
is  little  ice  and  snow.  The  thermometer  seldom  falls  to 
zero,  and  the  climate  is  as  mild  as  that  of  Atlanta  or  Rich- 
mond. 

The  stores  here  are  excellent.  Most  of  them  are  on 
the  water  front  built  upon  piles  that  rest  on  the  rocks. 
The  shops  have  plate-glass  windows  and  the  goods  are 
well  displayed.  In  one  window  I saw  a full  line  of  electri- 
cal apparatus,  including  electric  irons,  toasters,  and 
heaters.  Another  shows  a large  supply  of  thermos 
bottles  and  baby  carriages.  The  butcher  shops  have 
quarters  of  red  beef  just  in  from  Seattle,  and  the  fruit 
stores  sell  raspberries  and  strawberries  grown  in  Alaska, 
oranges  and  figs  from  California,  and  apples  from  Oregon 
and  British  Columbia.  The  supply  of  eatables  is  quite 
as  good  as  that  of  the  provision  stores  in  the  States,  and 
the  prices  are  not  much  higher.  Indeed,  I believe  one  can 
live  almost  as  cheaply  in  Ketchikan  as  in  Cleveland, 
Kansas  City,  or  Kalamazoo. 

1 have  a room  and  bath  at  the  Revilla  Hotel,  one  of  the 
two  leading  taverns.  The  Revilla  is  a three-story  frame 
building  within  a stone’s  throw  of  the  sea.  The  hotel 
office  is  a loafing  place  and  poolroom  as  well,  and  the 
guests  and  outsiders  are  knocking  the  billiard  balls  over 
the  tables  at  all  hours  of  the  night.  As  the  hotel  serves 
no  meals  I have  to  go  out  to  the  restaurants.  I am  eating 
at  the  Poodle  Dog  grill,  where  I sit  on  a stool  at  the  lunch 
counter  and  eat  my  ham  and  eggs  or  other  meat  from  a 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


great  oval  platter.  The  Poodle  Dog  advertises  these  hot 
platters  as  its  specialty  and  serves  food  in  no  other  way. 

The  town  has  an  excellent  and  abundant  water  supply 
from  a lake  high  up  in  the  mountains.  Any  one  who  wants 
a drink  of  pure  mountain  water  has  only  to  fit  his  mouth 
over  the  little  porcelain  bowls  of  the  sanitary  drinking 
fountains  at  every  street  corner  and  take  in  all  he  will. 

In  addition  to  the  lake,  Ketchikan  has  a rushing 
stream  flowing  in  cascades  and  rapids  right  through 
it.  In  the  salmon  season  this  stream  is  one  pink-and- 
silver  mass  of  fish.  The  fish  come  by  the  thousands 
and  swim  up  the  stream  to  spawn,  toiling  their  way 
through  the  rapids  and  jumping  the  falls.  At  that  season 
any  one  may  have  fish  for  the  taking,  and  quantities  are 
caught  for  the  canneries. 

This  stream  furnishes  the  city  its  electric  power  and 
runs  the  street  lights  and  telephones.  It  gives  electric 
heat  to  some  of  the  houses.  During  my  stay  I have  had 
dinner  with  one  of  the  leading  citizens  whose  home  is  a 
beautiful  house  of  ten  rooms  lighted  and  heated  by 
electricity.  The  cooking  is  done  on  an  electric  stove, 
and  hot  water  is  supplied  in  the  same  way.  Yet  he  tells 
me  that  his  fuel  and  light  bills,  even  in  midwinter,  are 
not  more  than  eighteen  dollars  a month. 


12 


CHAPTER  III 


THE  TOWN  OF  THE  GOOD  INDIANS 

ON  ANNETTE  ISLAND,  just  south  of  Ketchi- 
k kan,  is  Metlakahtla,  the  seat  of  one  of  the 
’ most  remarkable  experiments  in  the  civiliza- 
tion of  the  Red  Man.  This  is  the  town  of 
the  Good  Indians  established  by  Father  William  Duncan, 
whose  wonderful  work  with  these  natives  justified  his  title 
of  the  "Apostle  of  Alaska.” 

Father  Duncan  began  life  as  a commercial  traveller 
in  England,  and  at  twenty-one  was  well  on  his  way  toward 
a salary  of  five  thousand  dollars  a year.  He  decided, 
however,  to  give  up  his  work  and  become  a missionary. 
He  went  to  college  expecting  to  be  sent  out  to  India,  but 
instead  he  was  ordered  to  the  western  coast  of  British 
Columbia  to  work  with  a tribe  of  Indians  known  as  the 
Tsimpeans. 

These  Tsimpean  Indians  were  then  among  the  most 
barbarous  of  any  on  the  North  American  continent. 
They  believed  in  witch  doctors  and  practised  cannibalism. 
They  were  hunters  and  fishers  and  clothed  themselves  in 
the  skins  of  bears  and  wolves.  In  their  weird  dances 
they  put  the  skulls  of  bears  on  their  heads.  Their 
medicine  men  wore  hideous  masks  and  tried  to  frighten 
off  disease  with  horrible  noises.  If  the  demon  of  disease 
did  not  leave,  the  witch  doctors  would  hack  away  the 
sore  places  with  their  knives,  or  suck  or  burn  away  the 

1 J 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


ailing  flesh.  Any  one  they  pointed  out  as  possessed  of  evil 
spirits  or  as  a witch  was  killed  by  his  tribe. 

The  Tsimpseans  had  also  curious  ideas  regarding  the 
treatment  of  their  women.  Young  girls  approaching 
womanhood  were  confined  far  away  in  isolated  cabins, 
and  when  brought  back  were  supposed  to  have  dropped 
down  from  the  moon  and  to  be  ready  for  marriage.  On 
such  occasions  there  were  great  feasts  at  which  the  youths 
of  the  tribe  were  initiated  into  dog  eating,  cannibalism, 
and  devil  dancing.  The  Indians  believed  in  spirits  and  the 
transmigration  of  souls. 

When  Father  Duncan  arrived  in  Victoria  on  his  way  to 
this  work  he  was  told  by  the  agent  of  the  Hudson’s  Bay 
Company  that  if  he  went  he  would  beyond  doubt  be 
killed.  When  Duncan  still  insisted,  he  said:  “Well,  my 
good  man,  if  you  are  to  be  killed  and  eaten  1 suppose 
you  are  the  one  most  interested,  and  we  shall  have  to  let 
you  do  as  you  wish.  ’’ 

With  this  permission,  Father  Duncan  was  allowed  to  go 
to  Fort  Simpson,  in  British  Columbia,  not  far  from  Prince 
Rupert.  On  his  way  up  the  beach  to  speak  to  the  officer 
in  charge  at  the  fort  stockade  he  came  to  a place  where 
the  remains  of  a number  of  human  beings  were  scattered 
about  and  was  told  that  the  bodies  he  saw  had  been 
hacked  to  pieces  and  thrown  on  the  sand  in  a fight  between 
two  parties  of  savages  a few  days  before. 

At  that  time  many  of  the  tribes  along  the  coast  of  British 
Columbia  were  cannibals  and  Father  Duncan  actually 
saw  a band  of  Indians  on  the  beach  eating  a boy  who  had 
died  of  tuberculosis,  and  he  had  every  reason  to  believe 
that  a woman  he  saw  killed  was  disposed  of  in  the  same 
fashion.  Here  is  his  own  account  of  the  latter  incident: 

*4 


THE  TOWN  OF  THE  GOOD  INDIANS 


“ I had  heard  of  the  cannibalism,  and  one  day  an 
officer  of  the  fort  ran  into  my  house  and  told  me  that  the 
1 ndians  were  about  to  kill  one  of  their  women.  He  warned 
me  to  keep  indoors  and  said  that  I would  surely  be  killed 
if  I attempted  to  interfere.  A moment  later  another 
man  rushed  in  and  said  that  the  woman  had  already  been 
killed.  We  went  out  to  the  beach  where  there  was  a 
crowd  of  Indians.  They  were  divided  into  two  bands, 
each  led  by  a stark-naked  brave.  All  were  howling 
horribly.  They  had  killed  a woman  and  cut  her  in  two 
and  each  of  the  nude  Indian  leaders  was  carrying  half 
of  the  woman’s  body  by  his  teeth.  As  we  came  up  the 
bands  separated,  each  gathering  around  its  leader.  They 
sat  down  on  the  sand  so  crowded  together  that  I could 
not  see.  When  they  got  up  not  a vestige  of  the  woman 
was  to  be  seen.  What  became  of  the  flesh  I do  not  know, 
but  I believe  it  was  devoured.  I doubt,  however,  whether 
it  agreed  with  them,  for  the  officers  of  the  Hudson’s  Bay 
Company  fort  near  by  told  me  that  it  was  the  custom  of 
the  Indians  after  every  such  cannibal  feast  to  come  into 
the  post  the  day  following  and  buy  large  quantities  of 
epsom  salts.” 

In  those  early  days  there  were  several  attempts  to  kill 
Father  Duncan.  On  one  occasion  a tribal  chief  de- 
manded that  the  mission  school  be  closed  because  his 
beautiful  daughter  was  just  about  to  drop  down  from  the 
moon  to  be  married.  The  chief  said  that  she  had  gone 
away  and  would  come  back  in  great  state.  She  would 
drop  from  the  moon  into  the  sea  and  would  rise  out  of  the 
water  with  a bearskin  over  her  shoulders  and  thus  appear 
to  the  people.  At  this  time  there  would  be  many  cere- 
monies that  would  prevent  the  school  being  kept  open. 

>5 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


Father  Duncan  refused  to  close  the  school  and  the  chief 
persisted  in  his  demands.  At  last,  on  the  day  before  the 
feast,  he  sent  two  men  with  long  knives  to  kill  the  mission- 
ary, whose  life  was  saved  by  a friendly  Indian  who  had 
taught  him  the  native  language.  The  school  was  kept 
going. 

The  missionary  kept  steadily  at  his  work  until  he  had 
converted  eight  or  nine  of  these  tribes  to  the  Christian 
religion  and  made  them  about  the  most  law-abiding  and 
civilized  people  of  the  Indian  race.  To  belong  to  Father 
Duncan’s  community  the  Indians  did  not  have  to  promise 
to  become  Christians  but  they  did  have  to  agree  that  they 
would  drink  no  liquor,  that  there  should  be  none  of  the 
performances  of  the  medicine  men  over  the  sick,  and  that 
they  would  do  no  work  on  Sunday.  They  had  their  own 
council  and  governed  themselves.  They  had  their  own 
boats,  and  they  established  a canning  factory  and  put 
up  salmon  for  shipment.  They  learned  to  make  ropes 
and  brushes,  to  weave,  and  to  spin.  Father  Duncan 
went  to  England  and  brought  back  musical  instruments 
and  they  established  a brass  band.  They  had  a school- 
house  and  a church  with  an  organ,  which  some  of  them 
were  able  to  play.  They  had  their  market  house,  their 
shops,  their  carpenters,  tinners,  coopers,  and  other 
mechanics.  What  it  has  taken  ages  to  accomplish  with 
other  uncivilized  peoples  these  Indians,  under  Father 
Duncan,  achieved  in  less  than  thirty  years. 

Then  the  Church  of  England  began  to  meddle  with 
Duncan’s  mission,  sending  a bishop  to  rule  over  him 
and  the  Indians.  Finding  that  his  work  was  being  un- 
done, Father  Duncan  asked  the  United  States  to  allow 
his  Indians  to  settle  on  our  territory.  That  was  in  1887. 

16 


THE  TOWN  OF  THE  GOOD  INDIANS 


The  matter  was  much  agitated  in  the  United  States. 
Father  Duncan  was  supported  by  Henry  Ward  Beecher, 
Phillips  Brooks,  and  others,  and  through  their  efforts  a 
territory  was  allotted  to  him  and  his  Indians  on  the  north- 
western side  of  Annette  I sland.  They  came  in  August,  and 
the  first  thing  they  did  was  to  erect  a flagpole  and  hoist 
the  Stars  and  Stripes.  They  had  speeches  by  the  United 
States  Commissioner  of  Education  and  by  Father  Dun- 
can, and  later  on  divine  service  consisting  of  song  and 
praise  in  the  Tsimpsean  language. 

The  next  day  a portable  sawmill  was  unloaded,  and  the 
people  began  at  once  to  clear  the  forests  and  erect  buildings 
for  their  new  homes.  They  built  a cannery,  and  year  by 
year  added  to  their  structures  until  they  had  a town  hall, 
a church,  a schoolhouse,  a store,  a public  library,  and  the 
other  buildings  necessary  to  a civilized  community.  The 
settlement  was  called  the  New  Metlakahtla  and  since  then 
the  Indians  have  been  known  as  the  Metlakahtlans. 
In  1891  Annette  Island  was  set  aside  by  Congress  as  a 
reservation  for  them  and  it  was  provided  that  it  should 
be  used  by  them  in  common  under  such  rules  and  regula- 
tions as  might  be  prescribed  by  the  Secretary  of  the 
Interior. 

Annette  Island  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful  parts  of 
Southeastern  Alaska.  It  is  fifteen  miles  long  and  ten 
miles  wide,  and  is  formed  by  a long  wooded  mountain  on 
the  backbone  of  which  are  a number  of  beautiful  lakes. 
About  the  harbour  of  Metlakahtla  the  land  slopes 
gently  down  to  the  sea.  Here  the  trees  have  been  cut 
away  and  a few  hundred  acres  have  been  cleared  and 
divided  up  into  town  lots.  On  the  left  of  the  harbour 
a silvery  cascade  tumbles  down  the  side  of  the  mountain. 

17 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


It  comes  from  Lake  Chester  a short  distance  inland  and 
eight  hundred  and  fifty  feet  above  the  sea. 

The  most  conspicuous  building  in  Father  Duncan’s 
settlement  is  a great  white  frame  structure  with  two 
towers.  This  is  the  Westminster  Abbey  of  Metlakahtla. 
It  is  Father  Duncan’s  church  and  was  built  by  the  Indians 
at  a cost  of  twelve  thousand  dollars.  It  is  the  largest 
church  in  Alaska  and  seats  five  hundred  people. 

On  the  left  of  the  church  is  the  public  school  erected 
by  the  United  States,  and  still  farther  away  are  Father 
Duncan’s  twelve-room  guest  house,  his  office,  his  school, 
and  the  great  store  he  built  to  supply  the  needs  of  the 
people. 

Right  at  the  dock  is  a salmon  cannery  with  a capacity 
of  about  a million  cans  a year,  which  has  at  times  been 
a very  profitable  undertaking,  giving  work  to  all  the  people 
and  bringing  in  a good  revenue  to  the  colony.  Connected 
with  it  is  a box  factory  which  turns  out  the  twenty 
thousand  cases  or  boxes  used  for  shipping  the  fish.  At 
times  as  many  as  ten  thousand  salmon  have  been  handled 
in  a day. 

One  of  the  striking  buildings  of  the  new  Metlakahtla 
is  the  library  and  jail.  This  is  painted  in  the  colours  of  the 
American  flag.  The  first  story  is  bright  red;  it  is  the  jail. 
The  second  story  is  snow-white;  it  is  the  library.  The 
cupola  on  the  top  is  blue. 

Close  to  the  beach  and  running  back  from  it  toward 
the  public  buildings  are  the  homes  of  the  people.  There 
are  several  hundred  of  them,  all  built  by  the  Indians  with 
money  earned  in  the  community  enterprises  established  by 
Father  Duncan.  The  houses  are  cottages  of  one  and  two 
stories.  They  have  glass  windows,  porches,  and  comfort- 

18 


THE  TOWN  OF  THE  GOOD  INDIANS 


able  surroundings.  Each  has  a lot  about  eighty  feet 
front  and  ninety  feet  deep,  and  every  family  has  its 
garden. 

The  community  has  its  own  preachers  and  public 
speakers.  Some  of  the  sermons,  in  the  Tsimpsean  lan- 
guage, are  full  of  eloquence  and  beauty.  Here,  for 
instance,  is  one  urging  the  people  to  believe  that  the 
Saviour  will  take  care  of  them: 

“ Brethren  and  sisters:  You  know  the  eagle  and  its  ways. 
The  eagle  flies  high.  The  eagle  rests  high.  It  always 
rests  on  the  highest  branch  of  the  highest  tree.  We  should 
be  like  the  eagle.  We  should  rest  on  the  highest  branch 
of  the  highest  tree.  That  branch  is  Jesus  Christ.  When 
we  rest  on  him  all  our  enemies  will  be  below  and  far 
beneath  us.” 

Another  preacher  who  had  formerly  been  vicious  and 
high-tempered,  speaking  of  himself,  said: 

“ I will  tell  you  what  I feel  myself  to  be.  I am  like  a 
bundle  of  weeds  floating  down  the  stream.  I was  going 
down  with  all  my  sin,  like  the  weeds,  covered  with  earth 
and  filth;  but  I came  to  the  rapids,  when  lo!  there  was  a 
pole  stuck  fast  and  firm  in  the  rock,  and  I clutched  at  the 
pole,  and  there  I am  now.  The  stream  is  passing  by  and 
washing  away  my  filth.  Christ  to  me  is  the  pole;  I hold 
to  him  and  am  safe.” 

I might  cite  other  quotations  to  show  the  civilization, 
intelligence,  and  piety  of  the  Metlakahtlans.  They  are 
far  above  the  average  of  their  race  and  they  are  now 
aspiring  to  a higher  education,  to  full  United  States 
citizenship,  and  to  ownership  of  land  in  severalty.  Under 
the  regulations  fixed  by  the  Secretary  of  the  Interior 
the  Indians  govern  their  colony  through  a council  of 

: 9 


ALASKA* — OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


twelve,  elected  annually,  and  their  church  is  directed  by 
twelve  elders,  also  chosen  by  vote  of  the  people. 

From  reading  the  following  translation  of  the  Lord’s 
Prayer  into  Tsimpsean  one  gets  some  idea  of  what  it 
means  to  •work  with  these  Indians  in  their  own  language: 

IVee-Nahgwah-dnm  koo  tsim  lacbahgab,  Nclootiksb  ah 
Noo-wahnt,  Shabaksbeab  ntsabbany,  Shah-koad-kan  turn 
wabl  ab  balletsobamee.  Ne-wabltksb  tsim  lacbab-gab. 
Kinnam  klabgam  ab  chah  quah  abm  shkabboo  wenayah. 
Kamkoadan  ah  nabt-abiackamee,  new-abl-dab  dee  willab 
bam  hoadamum  ab  babt-acb-ah-deab  gam;  Killobmd^ah 
tahtaink  umt  shpiet  t'in  shpahlt  koadumt;  addab  mah  al 
tillabmantkum  ab  babt-acbabdat;  Ahwill  n'tsabbaniat, 
addab  nahkat  kettandat,  tilth  n’cloadant,  addab  turn  clab~ 
willab  wabl.  Amen. 


A beautiful  rushing  stream  flows  right  through  Ketchikan.  In  spring 
it  is  pink  and  silver  from  bank  to  bank  with  the  hordes  of  salmon  that 
jump  the  falls  on  their  way  upstream  to  spawn. 


Getting  nine  tenths  of  their  living  from  the  sea,  the  Indians  locate  their 
villages  on  the  narrow  beach  between  the  water  and  mountainside.  They 
have  learned  to  use  tools  and  put  up  frame  houses  in  place  of  rude  huts. 


CHAPTER  IV 


Alaska’s  golden  fisheries 

DURING  the  last  two  weeks  I have  visited  several 
fishing  centres  of  Southeastern  Alaska,  and 
have  gone  through  many  of  the  canneries  where 
they  are  putting  up  salmon  for  shipment  to 
all  parts  of  the  world.  There  are  more  than  seventy- 
five  such  canneries  in  Southeastern  Alaska  alone  and 
nearly  twice  that  number  in  the  whole  territory.  I have 
also  gone  through  the  cold  storage  plants  at  Ketchikan 
and  elsewhere,  where  they  are  freezing  salmon  for  export, 
and  have  seen  the  various  processes  of  mild-curing  and 
smoking  and  pickling  the  fish  for  the  market. 

But  few  people  appreciate  what  Uncle  Sam  is  now 
getting  out  of  the  waters  of  this  territory.  The  fishing 
industry  is  the  most  important  business  in  Alaska.  So 
far  the  seas  have  proved  almost  as  valuable  as  the  land. 
Including  the  operations  of  the  seal  fisheries,  we  have 
realized  more  than  half  a billion  dollars  from  them. 
We  are  now  getting  almost  six  times  as  much  annually 
from  Alaskan  fish  as  the  sum  we  paid  for  the  whole 
territory  when  we  bought  it  from  the  Russians,  and  we 
have  received  more  than  seventy  times  that  amount  since 
the  purchase  was  made.  If  the  industry  is  properly 
protected  and  fostered  it  should  produce  at  that  rate  for  all 
time  to  come. 

Indeed,  the  waters  of  Alaska  have  to  be  reckoned  among 


21 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 

the  big  sources  of  our  food  supply.  They  produce 
hundreds  of  millions  of  pounds  of  food  every  year,  and  the 
canned  salmon  alone  is  enough  to  give  ten  meals  to  every 
family  in  the  United  States  and  still  leave  some  for  export. 
The  fresh  salmon  sold  in  a year  runs  upward  of  three 
million  pounds,  while  the  salmon  frozen,  mild-cured,  and 
pickled  comes  to  fifteen  million  pounds.  The  annual 
halibut  export  amounts  to  about  seven  million  pounds, 
and  the  codfish  to  ten  million.  In  addition  to  this  there 
are  many  other  kinds  of  fish  in  these  waters  that  will 
eventually  be  caught  and  shipped,  so  that  in  some  respects 
the  industry  is  at  its  beginning. 

In  the  water  divisions  which  the  United  States  Bureau 
of  Fisheries  has  made  of  the  territory,  Southeastern 
Alaska  is  known  as  Fishing  District  Number  One.  It  is 
by  far  the  most  important  of  the  water  regions  of  our 
territory,  having  something  like  ten  thousand  men  engaged 
in  fishing.  This  district  has  great  halibut  banks  off  its 
many  islands  and  is  the  seat  of  the  fresh  fish  industry  of 
Alaska.  The  fishing  investments  there  amount  to  some- 
thing like  thirty  million  dollars,  most  of  which  is  in 
salmon. 

The  second  fishing  district  is  known  as  that  of  Central 
Alaska.  This  begins  at  Yakutat  Bay  and  includes  the 
great  Gulf  of  Alaska  and  all  of  the  waters  south  of  the 
mainland  and  along  the  Aleutian  Islands,  which  run  al- 
most to  Asia.  The  ocean  bed  of  a great  part  of  this 
enormous  district  is  paved  with  fish.  The  bulk  of  the 
catch  is  salmon,  but  there  is  also  an  annual  export  of  cod, 
amounting  to  millions  of  pounds,  from  the  extensive  cod 
banks  south  of  the  Alaska  Peninsula  and  the  Aleutian 
Islands. 


22 


ALASKA’S  GOLDEN  FISHERIES 


These  banks  compare  with  those  of  Newfoundland. 
Some  of  them  are  one  hundred  and  twenty  miles  long  and 
of  great  width.  They  are  so  situated  that  the  Arctic  and 
the  Japanese  currents  bring  them  a great  deal  of  fish  food 
and  the  cod  come  there  by  the  millions  to  eat. 

The  third  district,  Western  Alaska,  includes  banks 
swarming  with  cod.  It  embraces  Bristol  Bay,  where 
the  salmon  run  into  the  streams  by  the  tens  of  millions  a 
year,  the  deltas  of  the  Kuskokwim  and  the  Yukon  rivers, 
as  well  as  the  coast  of  Norton  Sound  and  all  the  waters 
along  Seward  Peninsula  to  Cape  Prince  of  Wales  at 
Bering  Strait.  We  have  also  an  island  in  the  middle  of 
the  strait  about  which  some  fishing  is  done.  As  far  as  its 
fisheries  are  concerned,  Western  Alaska  is  next  in  import- 
ance to  Southeastern  Alaska. 

There  is  a fairly  well-authenticated  story  of  how 
one  of  the  salmon  kings  started  his  fortune  in  the 
fish  industry  on  the  basis  of  the  then-despised  light- 
coloured  salmon.  This  man  had  put  up  his  cannery 
at  a location  past  which  the  fish  came  in  great  num- 
bers on  their  way  in  to  spawn.  He  was  right  in  his 
selection  of  a site,  and  the  salmon  were  caught  in 
vast  quantities.  They  were  all,  however,  of  the  light 
pink  variety,  and  the  fisherman  was  in  despair.  At  that 
time  no  light-coloured  salmon  had  been  shipped,  and  the 
demand  everywhere  was  for  salmon  of  an  almost  red  hue. 
The  man  canned  his  catch  and  sold  it  by  means  of  a label 
which  implied  that  it  was  the  only  sanitary  fish  on  the 
market.  The  label  read:  “This  salmon  is  warranted  not 
to  turn  red  in  the  can.”  Most  of  the  catch  went  to  the 
Southern  States,  and  the  drummers  selling  it  did  their 
business  so  well  that  in  some  of  the  towns  in  that  part  of 


23 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


the  United  States  to  this  day  you  can  hardly  sell  a red 
salmon.  The  people  think  it  is  spoiled,  and  has,  there- 
fore, turned  red  in  the  can. 

In  interior  Alaska  both  whites  and  natives  are  in- 
directly dependent  on  dried  salmon  for  their  very  exist- 
ence during  the  winter.  One  of  the  most  important 
phases  of  the  salmon  industry  is  the  fact  that  dried  salmon 
is  the  best  food  for  the  “husky,”  or  Alaskan  team  dog. 

Of  the  seventy  million  dollars  invested  in  the  fishing 
industry  of  Alaska  sixty-two  millions  are  devoted  to 
catching,  canning,  and  shipping  of  salmon.  There  are 
four  species  of  this  fish,  all  of  which  are  delicious. 
The  largest  and  most  valuable  is  the  king  salmon,  which 
has  an  average  weight  of  twenty-two  pounds  and  some- 
times weighs  as  high  as  one  hundred  pounds.  This  is 
found  in  Southeastern  Alaska  in  all  months  of  the  year, 
and  in  May  and  June  it  runs  up  many  of  the  rivers  to 
spawn.  The  next  in  size  is  the  sock-eye,  or  red  salmon, 
which  is  about  a yard  long  and  has  an  average  weight  of 
five  pounds.  It  is  found  all  over  Alaska  and  runs  chiefly 
from  June  until  the  middle  of  August.  The  silver  or 
Coho  salmon  is  not  so  valuable,  on  account  of  the  paleness 
of  its  flesh.  It  weighs  on  an  average  about  six  pounds, 
and  runs  later  than  the  sock-eye.  The  hump-back  is  the 
smallest  of  our  salmon.  It  is  caught  by  the  millions  in 
Southeastern  Alaska,  and  many  of  the  canneries  depend 
upon  it.  It  weighs  up  to  eleven  pounds.  In  addition  to 
these  four  species  Alaska  has  the  dog  salmon,  which  is 
good  for  freezing,  salting,  and  smoking,  but  poor  for 
canning,  and  is  shipped  largely  to  Japan. 

Catching  the  salmon  and  bringing  them  to  the  canneries 
is  a great  industry  by  itself.  There  are  certain  weeks  or 

24 


ALASKA  AND  THE  KLONDIKE 

Few  Americans  appreciate  either  the  character  or  the  extent  of  their  northern  treasure  house, 
which  now,  with  the  Government  Railway,  more  than  ever  invites  the  business  man  and  traveller. 


ALASKA’S  GOLDEN  FISHERIES 


months  of  the  year  during  which  these  fish  come  from  the 
ocean  into  the  fresh  waters  of  the  rivers  to  spawn.  The 
spawning  grounds  are  often  a thousand  miles  or  more 
inland.  I have  seen  the  fish  fighting  their  way  up  the 
Yukon  two  thousand  miles  from  its  mouth  at  Bering  Sea, 
and  they  may  be  found  in  great  numbers  climbing  over 
the  rocks  of  the  streams  that  flow  down  the  mountains  of 
the  coast  into  the  Pacific. 

When  they  are  four  or  five  years  old  the  instinct  to 
spawn  sends  the  salmon  up  into  the  inland  creeks  and 
rivers.  There  seems  to  be  something  in  the  contact  with 
the  fresh  water  coming  down  into  the  ocean  that  causes 
the  fish  to  run  toward  it.  Usually  they  pair  off.  When 
they  have  gone  far  enough  from  salt  water  the  male,  with 
his  tail  and  snout,  digs  a broad,  shallow  nest  in  the  gravelly 
stream  bed  in  which  the  female  deposits  her  eggs.  After 
they  have  been  fertilized  by  the  milt  of  the  male,  the  pair 
cover  them  up  with  sand  and  gravel,  then  float  down  the 
stream  tail  first,  never  swimming  or  making  any  effort 
to  get  back  to  sea.  In  a few  days  both  the  male  and 
female  die.  Four  or  five  months  later  the  young  hatch 
and  soon,  guided  by  some  instinct,  make  their  way  down 
to  the  ocean  where  they  stay  until  they  are  ready  to  rush 
back  to  fresh  water,  spawn,  and  die  like  their  parents 
before  them. 

In  the  spawning  season  the  salmon  come  up  stream  in 
such  hordes  that  they  can  be  caught  in  traps  both  station- 
ary and  floating,  in  nets  fastened  to  posts  and  stakes  in 
the  rivers,  and  in  seines  which  are  brought  from  the 
Reaches  and  the  boats.  They  are  caught  also  by  fish 
wheels  moved  by  the  currents  of  the  river  in  such  a way 
that  the  nets  of  wire  or  cord  attached  to  the  wheels  scoop 

25 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


up  the  fish  as  they  swim  against  the  current  and  fairly 
shovel  them  down  into  the  boats.  Fish  wheels  of  this 
kind  are  to  be  seen  here  and  there  along  the  coast,  and 
there  are  hundreds  of  them  owned  by  the  Indians  along 
the  Kuskokwim  and  Yukon  rivers. 

The  business  of  the  Alaskan  canneries  is  enormous. 
The  one  I went  through  in  Ketchikan  covers  several 
acres.  It  will  put  up  seven  and  one  half  million  cans  of 
salmon  this  year  besides  freezing  hundreds  of  thousands 
of  pounds  to  be  sent  to  the  East.  When  the  fish  are 
brought  in  by  the  boatloads  and  dumped  out  by  the 
thousand  they  are  still  alive  and  flopping,  and  they  are 
hardly  dead  as  they  start  into  the  “iron  chink,”  a machine 
which  cleans  each  fish,  cutting  off  its  head,  tail,  and  fins 
and  taking  out  its  insides  within  the  time  of  a watch  tick. 
All  this  work  used  to  be  done  by  hand,  and  Chinese  hands 
at  that.  When  the  machine  was  invented  to  take  the 
place  of  the  Chinaman  it  was  nicknamed  the  “iron  chink,” 
and  so  it  is  known  to  this  day.  The  inventor  was  a cook  of 
Seattle  named  Smith,  who  made  a fortune  out  of  his 
invention.  His  machine  will  clean  thirty  thousand 
fish  in  ten  hours,  or  as  much  as  was  formerly  done  by 
fifty  of  the  most  expert  Chinese.  Nevertheless,  the 
whole  thing  is  not  much  bigger  around  than  a flour 
barrel  and  not  more  than  eight  feet  in  height.  It  consists 
of  a number  of  knives  so  arranged  that  as  the  fish  flies  in 
one  knife  cuts  off  the  head  and  at  the  same  time  another 
chops  off  the  tail.  As  the  fish  moves  on  a third  knife 
rips  up  the  belly  and  other  knives  take  off  the  fins. 

At  the  end  the  fish  has  been  split,  the  backbone  taken 
out,  the  blood  removed,  and  the  salmon  is  ready  for  the 
can.  Before  being  put  into  the  can,  however,  it  is  care- 

26 


ALASKA’S  GOLDEN  FISHERIES 


fully  inspected  by  men  who  watch  the  fish  as  they  make 
their  way  over  endless  belts  to  the  chopper. 

The  chopper  automatically  cuts  the  fish  into  pieces  of 
the  right  size  for  the  can  in  such  a way  that  each  can  gets 
its  own  share  of  the  several  parts  of  a fish.  There  must 
be  some  from  the  back  and  some  from  the  belly  in  order 
to  supply  the  streak  of  lean  and  the  streak  of  fat  which, 
as  in  bacon,  are  necessary  to  make  the  can  of  salmon 
just  right.  The  machine  puts  into  each  can  just  sixteen 
ounces.  As  the  cans  move  onward  they  pass  through 
an  automatic  weighing  machine  which  drops  out  any  that 
are  underweight. 

After  this  the  cover  of  the  can  is  fitted  on  by  machinery 
in  such  a way  as  to  allow  the  steam  to  escape,  and  the 
tins  travel  on  into  a furnace  or  exhaust  box  where  the 
temperature  is  two  hundred  and  twelve  degrees.  Next 
another  machine  makes  the  tops  tight,  without  acid  or 
solder,  and  the  cans  are  moved  on  into  great  retorts  where 
they  are  cooked  for  an  hour  and  a half  in  a heat  of  two 
hundred  and  fifty-four  degrees.  When  they  come  out 
they  are  ready  to  be  labelled  and  packed  into  boxes  for 
shipment  to  all  parts  of  the  world. 

The  halibut  is  one  of  the  most  interesting  fish  that 
swims  the  seas.  It  is  the  largest  of  the  flat  fish.  I have 
seen  many  which,  if  stood  upon  their  tails,  would  reach 
high  above  my  head  and  some  which  I venture  are  over 
three  feet  in  width.  The  average  halibut  weighs  about 
one  hundred  pounds,  but  some  have  been  caught  weighing 
as  much  as  three  hundred.  Halibut  fishing  has  nothing 
gamy  or  sporting  about  it.  Long  lines  are  dropped  down 
into  the  sea  until  the  baited  hook  rests  on  the  bed  of  the 
ocean.  Sometimes  the  lines  are  so  long  that  when  loaded 

27 


ALASKA — OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


with  fish  it  takes  the  steam  engine  on  the  fishing  vessel 
the  better  part  of  a day  to  wind  them  up.  They  are 
divided  into  sections,  each  section  having  a float  or  buoy 
that  rides  on  the  surface  and  is  marked  by  a flag  in  the 
daytime  and  by  a light  at  night. 

Some  halibut  fishing  is  now  carried  on  direct  from  the 
ship.  A few  years  ago  it  was  all  done  in  dories  or  small 
boats,  which  were  taken  out  in  large  vessels.  The  men 
would  go  out  in  the  dories  to  set  the  lines  and  later  bring 
the  halibut  back  to  the  vessel. 

The  fishing  parties  usually  stay  out  from  ten  days  to 
three  weeks.  They  carry  ice  with  them,  and  the  moment 
the  fish  are  taken  from  the  hook  they  are  cleaned  and 
packed  in  the  ice.  When  they  reach  the  cold  storage 
plant  they  are  washed  and  shipped  in  cold  storage  cars 
direct  to  the  markets. 

If  they  are  not  to  be  shipped  immediately  halibut  are 
put  into  freezers  where  they  remain  for  twenty-four 
hours  at  a temperature  of  ten  to  twenty  degrees  above  zero. 
Next  each  one  is  dipped  four  or  five  times  in  fresh  water 
until  it  becomes  entirely  incased  in  a thin  sheet  of  clear 
ice.  It  can  then  be  held  in  cold  storage  at  a temperature 
of  four  degrees  below  freezing.  Finally,  the  fish  get 
another  coating  of  ice,  are  wrapped  separately  in  vege- 
table parchment  paper,  packed  in  paper-lined  boxes  of 
seventy-five  pounds’  capacity,  and  sent  eastward  in  the 
cold  storage  trains. 

I have  gone  through  some  of  the  big  freezing  establish- 
ments both  in  Prince  Rupert  and  in  Ketchikan.  Each 
town  has  its  cold  storage  plants  where  halibut  and  salmon 
are  frozen.  The  largest  one  1 visited  has  a capacity  of 
fourteen  million  pounds  of  fish.  Its  buildings  are  right 

28 


Next  in  importance  to  the  salmon  of  Alaska  is  the  halibut.  The  average 
halibut  weighs  about  one  hundred  pounds,  but  some  have  been  caught 
weighing  as  much  as  three  hundred  pounds. 


The  pink  flesh  of  tens  of  thousands  of  drying  salmon  add  to  the  colourful 
scenes  of  Alaska.  The  dried  fish  are  eaten  by  Indians  and  white  men  and 
are  the  chief  winter  food  of  the  sled  dogs. 


The  life  story  of  both  the  male  and  female  salmon  ends  with  the  spawn- 
ing. The  adults  leave  the  ocean  for  the  rivers  and  streams,  but  only 
the  young  fish  survive  to  make  the  return  journey. 


ALASKA’S  GOLDEN  FISHERIES 


on  the  harbour,  and  the  fish  are  frozen  stiff  as  soon  as 
they  come  from  the  wharves. 

I went  into  the  freezing  chambers,  the  walls  and  pipes 
of  which  were  covered  with  frost.  The  temperature  is 
far  below  zero.  The  smell  of  the  ammonia  used  to  pro- 
duce refrigeration  almost  overcame  me  as  I walked  between 
the  great  masses  of  fish  laid  one  upon  another  like  so 
many  sticks  of  cordwood.  I took  up  one  of  the  smaller 
fish  and  let  it  drop  on  the  floor.  It  was  as  hard  as  stone 
and  the  noise  of  its  fall  was  like  the  crack  of  a pistol. 
I examined  the  fish,  but  there  was  no  bruise  or  dent  in  the 
flesh.  I stood  it  on  end,  resting  the  tail  on  the  floor,  and 
it  did  not  bend  in  the  least. 

A great  deal  of  halibut  is  salted  and  put  in  hogsheads 
for  shipment.  Each  hogshead  holds  about  eight  hundred 
and  fifty  pounds,  and  when  full  is  worth  around  a hundred 
dollars.  The  halibut  intended  for  salting  is  dressed  before 
it  is  packed.  It  is  hung  by  the  gills  to  a hook  then 
sliced  in  two,  the  back  and  the  front  forming  great  slabs 
of  snow-white  meat.  The  backbone  is  cut  out;  the  front, 
or  belly,  has  no  bones.  After  cleaning,  the  slabs  are 
sprinkled  with  salt  and  put  into  the  hogsheads  in  layers 
with  a layer  of  salt  between  each  two  layers  of  fish.  Some 
halibut  is  smoked,  in  which  form  it  may  be  bought  in 
almost  any  grocery  store. 

Herring,  the  halibut’s  favourite  food,  are  found  in  nearly 
all  the  waters  of  Alaska.  They  move  about  in  great 
schools,  some  of  which  cover  several  square  miles.  Twice 
a year,  when  they  swim  to  the  shores  to  spawn,  they  come 
in  such  large  schools  that  they  can  be  scooped  up  from 
the  water  right  into  the  boats.  One  way  of  catching  them  is 
by  driving  nails  into  a board  so  that  they  stick  out  several 

29 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


inches.  The  boards  are  then  dragged  through  the  schools 
and  the  fish  catch  between  the  nails  and  are  pulled  by  the 
boardful  into  the  boats.  In  one  year  more  than  a million 
pounds  of  herring  were  caught  at  Prince  Rupert  alone  and 
frozen  by  the  cold  storage  plants  to  be  sold  for  bait. 
A large  proportion  of  the  herring  catch  of  Alaska  is  used 
for  manufacture  of  fertilizer  and  oil,  but  at  that  statistics 
show  an  output  of  more  than  eight  million  pounds 
annually  cured  for  food. 

There  are  also  large  cod  fisheries  in  Alaska,  and  the 
cod  are  said  to  be  equal  to  those  caught  on  the  Banks  of 
Newfoundland.  Much  of  the  cod  fishing  is  about  the 
Aleutian  Islands,  and  there  are  many  vessels  and  stations 
devoted  to  the  industry.  The  amount  of  cod  caught 
annually  runs  to  more  than  twelve  million  pounds. 

In  addition  to  the  ordinary  cod  there  are  black  cod,  a 
fish  of  about  the  same  size  as  the  ordinary  cod,  but  darker 
in  colour.  The  flesh,  which  is  much  richer  in  oil,  may  be 
prepared  in  such  a way  that  it  is  delicious.  It  has  been 
eaten  for  many  years  in  Alaska,  and  has  latterly  been 
shipped  to  Seattle,  where  the  restaurants  make  a special 
feature  of  barbecued  black  cod.  This  consists  of  the 
backs  of  the  fish,  which  are  kippered  or  smoked  after  being 
salted,  served  with  drawn  butter. 

There  is  a prospect  that  an  extensive  industry  will  some 
time  arise  in  the  shellfish  of  Alaska.  There  are  oysters  on 
the  southern  coast  as  large  as  saucers,  and  there  are  many 
places  among  the  Alaskan  islands  where  you  can  catch 
crabs  as  big  as  dinner  plates.  There  are  clams  large  and 
small,  delicious  little  butter  clams  and  others  good  to 
eat  the  size  of  a man’s  hand. 

1 am  told,  however,  that  one  has  to  be  very  careful  as 

30 


ALASKA’S  GOLDEN  FISHERIES 


to  the  source  of  his  clam  supply.  Some  of  these  bivalves 
feed  in  the  water  near  the  copper  deposits,  and  the  copper 
poisons  their  meat.  The  captain  of  one  of  our  Coast 
Survey  steamers,  in  speaking  of  this  recently,  told  me  how 
his  life  was  saved  by  a pussy-cat.  Said  he: 

“ It  was  a narrow  escape.  I had  bought  a fine  mess  of 
clams  and  was  just  about  to  eat  some  of  them  raw  when  I 
decided  I had  better  test  their  edibility  by  giving  one  of 
them  to  my  cat.  The  pussy  ate  it,  and  a moment  later 
she  rolled  over  and  went  into  convulsions.  She  kept  on 
kicking  until  every  one  of  her  nine  lives  had  departed.” 


3* 


CHAPTER  V 


THE  STORY  OF  “SEWARD’S  ICE  BOX” 

COME  with  me  for  a walk  through  the  old  town 
of  Sitka.  It  was  founded  in  1799  at  about 
the  time  that  George  Washington  was  dying 
at  Mount  Vernon,  and  was  a thriving  manu- 
facturing centre,  building  ships  and  making  bells,  plows, 
picks,  and  spades  when  the  Indians  were  still  hunting  deer 
on  the  site  of  Chicago.  For  more  than  one  hundred  years 
it  was  the  capital  and  commercial  centre  of  Alaska.  Sit- 
uated here  in  the  Panhandle  one  hundred  and  fifty  miles 
northwest  of  Ketchikan  and  about  as  far  north  of  Seattle 
as  Minneapolis  is  north  of  New  Orleans,  it  was  selected  by 
the  Russians  as  the  seat  of  their  government  and  as  the 
chief  home  of  the  officials  and  traders  sent  out  by  the  Czar 
to  what  was  then  Russian  America.  Sitka  was  the  capital 
of  Alaska  when  we  bought  the  territory,  and  it  was  here 
that  the  country  was  formally  transferred  to  the  United 
States.  After  that  it  remained  the  capital  for  almost 
forty  years,  until  the  seat  of  government  was  transferred 
to  Juneau  in  1912. 

Looking  at  Sitka  as  it  is  to-day,  one  does  not  wonder 
that  the  Russians  chose  it  as  their  chief  place  of  residence. 
The  town  has  a climate  as  mild  as  that  of  Baltimore  or 
Richmond,  and  its  surroundings  are  so  beautiful  that  it 
must  some  time  be  a summer  resort  and  place  of  perma- 
nent residence  for  retired  capitalists.  It  is  situated  on 

32 


THE  STORY  OF  “SEWARD’S  ICE  BOX ” 


Baranof  Island  within  a short  distance  of  the  open  Pacific. 
It  lies  on  a little  bay  at  the  mouth  of  a fast-flowing  river  in 
the  arena  of  an  amphitheatre  of  snow-clad  mountains. 
The  waters  in  front  of  it  have  scores  of  small  wooded 
islands,  while  all  about  the  hills  rise  to  the  clouds.  One 
of  the  mountains  is  known  as  the  Holy  Cross  from  a figure 
of  the  cross  in  perpetual  snow  which  gleams  out  near  its 
summit.  This  is  Mt.  Verstovia,  which  has  a mantle  of 
white  throughout  the  winter,  but  in  the  summer  the  snow 
disappears,  with  the  exception  of  this  gigantic  cross 
painted  by  the  hand  of  God  upon  a background  of  green. 
Another  mountain  is  Edgecombe,  on  the  Island  of  Kruzof, 
over  the  way.  Mount  Edgecombe  is  an  extinct  volcano 
as  regular  and  as  beautiful  in  its  outlines  as  Fujiyama  in 
Japan.  It  was  one  of  the  first  of  the  landmarks  discovered 
by  Captain  Cook  when  he  sailed  through  these  waters  in 
1776. 

On  the  hill,  at  one  side  of  the  town,  was  the  site  of  the 
Baranof  castle,  where  the  Russian  governor  lived,  and 
there  to-day  is  the  headquarters  of  the  agricultural  ex- 
periment station.  To  the  left  of  the  cliffs  at  the  entrance 
of  the  harbour  are  the  wharves  with  the  main  business 
street,  named  after  President  Lincoln,  running  back  from 
them,  and  farther  down  the  cove  is  a long  row  of  two  and 
three  story  houses,  with  many  flagstaffs  rising  above  them. 
That  is  the  Indian  settlement.  The  town  has  altogether 
something  like  one  thousand  Indians,  and  we  shall  see 
Indians  everywhere  as  we  move  through  the  streets.  It 
has  also  about  five  hundred  whites. 

In  Sitka  modern  residences  of  Americans  and  log  build- 
ings more  than  one  hundred  years  old,  put  up  in  the  days  of 
the  Russians,  stand  side  by  side.  There  is  one  great  ware- 

33 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


house  of  logs  so  carefully  fitted  together  that  you  could 
not  put  a knife  blade  between  them.  The  logs  are  each 
two  or  three  feet  in  diameter.  That  building,  which  was 
a warehouse  when  we  took  over  the  territory,  frequently 
had  a million  dollars’  worth  of  furs  stored  in  it.  At  the 
time  of  the  sale  to  the  United  States  it  contained  thirty 
thousand  sealskins  which  then  sold  for  less  than  three 
dollars  apiece. 

A little  farther  up  the  street  is  a log  building  covered 
with  the  moss  of  many  decades,  and  still  farther  away, 
near  the  Russian  cemetery,  is  a Russian  blockhouse  bear- 
ing the  scars  of  the  wars  with  the  Indians. 

The  Sitka  of  to-day  has  a number  of  fine  churches  and  a 
large  missionary  school.  There  is  an  Episcopal  church, 
built  of  stone,  with  the  residence  of  the  Bishop  of  Alaska 
behind  it,  and  there  are  the  half-dozen  large  buildings  of 
the  Sheldon  Jackson  School  belonging  to  the  Presbyter- 
ians. These  buildings  include  industrial  departments 
and  dormitories  for  both  Indian  boys  and  girls.  The 
children  are  clean  and  well  dressed  and  the  school  has 
done  a great  work  with  its  practical  educational  methods. 

At  Sitka  is  also  the  Old  Pioneers’  Home  where  aged  and 
dependent  men  and  women,  who  have  spent  their  years 
assisting  in  the  development  of  Alaska,  are  well  cared  for 
by  the  territorial  government.  The  most  prominent 
church  building  in  the  town  is  the  Russian  cathedral.  It 
stands  at  the  end  of  the  main  street  coming  up  from  the 
wharves  on  the  site  of  a church  that  was  built  here  more 
than  a century  ago,  when  Baranof  was  governor.  The 
present  building  dates  far  back  in  the  Russian  occupation, 
but  it  was  in  use  until  the  Bolshevik  regime  in  Russia  sus- 
pended the  activities  of  the  Russian  Church  in  Alaska. 

34 


THE  STORY  OF  “SEWARD’S  ICE  BOX” 


The  Russians  did  a great  deal  of  mission  work  here. 
They  had  mission  stations  on  many  of  the  Aleutian  Islands 
and  others  scattered  over  the  territory  even  to  the  mouth 
of  the  Yukon.  The  Russian  cathedral  at  Sitka  is  a 
museum  of  interesting  pictures  and  jewels.  Many  of  its 
paintings  were  brought  around  Cape  Horn  or  across  Si- 
beria, and  some  of  th^nrlffe  by  famous  artists.  One  is  an 
icon  bearingTheTaoe  of  the  Lady  of  Kazan.  It  represents 
a madonna  and  child  and  is  of  great  beauty.  I am  told 
that  the  church  refused  an  offer  of  twenty-five  thousand 
dollars  from  J.  Pierpont  Morgan  for  this  single  painting. 

Of  late  years  Sitka  has  lost  its  commercial  importance. 
The  removal  of  the  capital  to  Juneau  took  away  about  all 
the  United  States  offices,  and  there  is  now  no  more  quiet 
town  in  the  territory.  The  place  is  away  from  the  main 
lines  of  travel  and  is  reached  only  by  a small  steamer,  or 
by  the  tourist  boats  in  the  summer,  which  bring  sight- 
seers here  on  account  of  Sitka’s  beauty  and  historic  in- 
terest. It  is  well  worth  a visit.  


The  history  of  Alaska  covers  just  about  one  hundred 
and  fifty  years,  and,  roughly  speaking,  it  may  be  divided 
into  three  periods  of  fifty  years  each.  \ The  first  fifty  was 
the  period  of  exploration  and  discovery.  The  next  fifty 
was  the  time  of  the  Russian  occupation,  and  the  last  half 
century  covers  the  time  since  we  purchased  the  territory. 

Alaska  was  discovered  by  the  Russians  during  the 
eighteenth  century  but  very  little  was  known  about  it 
until  almost  the  beginning  of  the  nineteenth.  It  was  in 
1 71 1 that  Peter  Popoff  sailed  from  Siberia  around  through 
Bering  Strait  and  brought  back  rumours  that  a continent 
existed  on  the  other  side  of  Asia.  Seventeen  years  later 
Peter  the  Great  of  Russia,  who  had  heard  of  these  stories, 

35 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


sent  Vitus  Bering  from  Kamchatka  to  find  out  if  they 
were  true.  Bering  went  through  the  strait  which  now 
bears  his  name,  but  it  must  have  been  foggy,  for  he  did 
not  see  the  American  shore  or  even  the  Diomede  Islands, 
which  lie  in  the  middle  of  the  Strait.  So  he  came  back 
and  reported  that  he  had  found  nothing.  He  tried  it 
again  nine  years  later  with  a similar  result,  and  it  was  not 
until  1741  that  he  saw  the  American  continent  and  dis- 
covered the  Shumagin  Islands.  At  that  time  he  anchored 
near  the  mouth  of  the  Copper  River  and  went  on  back 
through  the  Aleutians  to  the  Island  of  Bering,  a part  of 
Siberia.  He  was  wrecked  on  that  island  and  died  there 
of  scurvy.  Some  of  his  sailors  who  made  their  way  back 
to  the  mainland  carried  the  story  of  the  existence  of  Alaska 
and  of  the  wonderful  furs  of  the  Aleutians. 

From  that  time  the  Russians  made  many  expeditions 
to  the  Aleutians.  Their  glowing  reports  attracted  the 
attention  of  other  navigators,  especially  Britons  and 
Spaniards,  who  made  many  voyages  of  exploration  along 
the  Alaskan  coasts.  It  was  in  1774  and  1775  that  Juan 
Perez  was  sent  by  the  King  of  Spain  from  Mexico  to  the 
north.  He  reached  Dixon  Entrance,  our  international 
boundary,  in  1774,  and  the  year  following  came  to  Sitka 
Sound.  Captain  Cook  sailed  from  Plymouth,  England,  at 
just  about  the  time  that  Jefferson  was  writing  the  Decla- 
ration of  Independence.  It  was  he  who  established  the 
fact  that  there  was  no  land  connection  between  America 
and  Asia,  and  he  surveyed  a part  of  the  coast,  outlining 
the  chief  features  through  more  than  twelve  degrees  of 
latitude.  He  then  went  south  to  Hawaii,  where  he  was 
killed  by  the  natives. 

Later  still  there  were  other  explorations  by  the  Russians, 

36 


Sitka,  the  old  capital  of  Russian  America,  has  a safe  and  commodious 
harbour.  Its  surroundings  are  so  beautiful  and  its  climate  is  so  mild  that  it 
should  become  a favourite  summer  resort  for  people  from  the  States. 


Indians  so  dislike  to  have  any  one  pass  behind  them  that  when  they  can 
they  sit  with  their  backs  against  a wall.  When  we  bought  Alaska  this  old 
Russian  warehouse  contained  thirty  thousand  seal  skins,  which  then  sold 
for  less  than  three  dollars  apiece. 


The  old  blockhouse  at  Sitka  still  shows  the  scars  of  the  wars  which 
Baranoff,  first  Governor  of  Russian  America,  waged  against  the  Indians. 
In  one  massacre  all  but  five  of  the  colonists  at  Sitka  were  killed. 


THE  STORY  OF  “SEWARD’S  ICE  BOX” 


who  formed  trading  companies,  and  there  were  inde- 
pendent fur  traders  from  England  and  from  our  Atlantic 
coast.  Five  ships  from  New  England  came  to  Alaska  in 
the  latter  part  of  the  eighteenth  century  to  buy  furs. 
One  of  these,  commanded  by  Captain  Gray,  took  his 
cargo  of  furs  to  Canton,  China,  where  he  got  a cargo  of 
tea,  which  he  carried  on  around  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope 
to  Boston,  making  the  first  voyage  of  an  American  vessel 
around  the  world.  He  landed  in  Boston,  August  io, 
1790. 

Meanwhile,  the  Russians  had  been  gradually  staking  out 
their  claims  to  Alaska,  and  about  the  beginning  of  the  last 
century  they  made  treaties  with  England  which  conceded 
to  them  the  Alaskan  coast  down  to  fifty-four  degrees  forty 
minutes  of  north  latitude.  At  that  time  it  is  said  that 
Russia  had  a great  ambition  to  control  the  Pacific,  and 
that  it  was  her  aim  to  grab  the  whole  of  California  and  the 
Hawaiian  Islands  as  well.  Baranof,  the  Russian  who 
founded  Sitka,  had  fur  trading  stations  as  far  south  as 
where  San  Francisco  now  is,  and  actually  owned  the  farm 
which  later  came  into  the  hands  of  John  Sutter,  on  which 
gold  was  first  discovered  in  California. 

Eight  years  before  our  national  capital  was  moved  from 
Philadelphia  to  Washington  Baranof  established  at 
Kodiak  the  first  Russian  colony.  Among  the  settlers 
were  a number  of  convicts,  of  whom  he  made  fur-traders 
and  farmers,  controlling  them  with  an  iron  hand.  He  was 
small  in  stature,  but  he  had  the  qualities  of  a Napoleon, 
and  it  was  due  to  his  management  and  organization  that 
Russia  got  such  a foothold  on  our  continent.  He  had 
many  fights  not  only  with  the  Indians  but  also  with  his 
own  people.  At  one  time,  when  one  of  the  colonists  at- 

37 


ALASKA — OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


tempted  to  assassinate  him,  he  grabbed  hold  of  the  hand 
holding  the  weapon  and  then  strangled  the  man  to  death 
with  his  own  hands. 

In  1799  he  moved  his  headquarters  to  Sitka,  and  three 
years  later,  while  he  was  absent,  the  Indians  massacred 
the  Russians,  killing  all  of  the  officers  and  thirty  men. 
Only  five  Russians  escaped.  The  Indians  built  a fort  of 
logs  and  defied  the  Russians,  but  Baranof  came  back 
with  a gunboat  and  starved  the  Indians  into  submission. 

Baranof  then  moved  the  site  of  Sitka  eight  miles,  to 
where  the  town  now  is.  About  the  time  he  came  to  Sitka 
there  was  formed  the  Russian  Fur  Company,  a monopoly 
backed  by  the  government,  the  Czar,  and  the  Empress, 
and  many  of  the  nobility.  Baranof  continued  to  manage 
the  territory  until  1817,  when,  through  political  trickery, 
he  was  deposed.  He  left  Sitka  and  died  on  his  way  home 
at  Batavia,  Java,  in  1819. 

During  the  time  of  Russia’s  ownership  much  of  the 
Alaskan  coast  was  explored.  The  Yukon  River  was 
opened  up  as  far  as  the  mouth  of  the  Tanana  by  Lieuten- 
ant Zagoskin,  and  Kotzebue  went  through  Bering  Strait 
and  discovered  Kotzebue  Sound  on  the  Arctic  Ocean 
north  of  the  Seward  Peninsula.  The  delta  of  the  Kus- 
kokwim  became  pretty  well  known,  likewise  the  southern 
coast,  including  the  Panhandle,  the  Gulf  of  Alaska,  the 
Alaskan  Peninsula,  and  the  Aleutian  Islands. 

Complications,  however,  were  arising  with  the  British, 
who,  under  the  Hudson’s  Bay  Company,  were  pushing 
their  trading  stations  from  the  Mackenzie  River  on  to 
the  Yukon.  Russia  became  anxious  lest  her  American 
holdings  should  fall  into  the  hands  of  Great  Britain.  At 
the  time  of  the  Crimean  War  she  offered  to  sell  us  Alaska, 

38 


THE  STORY  OF  “SEWARD’S  ICE  BOX” 


but  President  Pierce  refused  to  become  a party  to  the  trans- 
fer. The  matter  was  again  taken  up  when  Buchanan 
came  in,  at  which  time  an  offer  of  five  million  dollars 
was  made  by  us  and  declined  by  the  Russians.  The 
negotiations  were  continued,  but  the  Civil  War  was  then 
brewing  and  the  pro-slavery  element  would  not  agree  to 
the  purchase  of  any  more  territory  that  was  likely  to  be 
non-slaveholding.  The  subject  was  dropped  until  after 
the  close  of  the  war. 

It  was  in  1863  that  the  Western  Union  Telegraph  Com- 
pany planned  to  build  a land  line  across  North  America 
to  Asia,  and  a little  later  they  sent  exploration  parties 
down  the  Yukon  and  over  the  Seward  Peninsula  to  Bering 
Strait  and  into  Siberia.  They  explored  the  Yukon  Valley 
and  brought  forth  much  new  information  regarding 
Alaska.  They  were  about  ready  to  push  their  line  through 
when  the  Atlantic  cable  proved  successful.  Meantime, 
an  increased  interest  had  sprung  up  regarding  Alaska. 
The  negotiations  for  its  purchase  were  resumed,  and,  to 
cut  short  a most  interesting  story,  Russia  offered  to  sell 
the  territory  to  us  for  about  two  cents  an  acre.  The 
actual  figure  was  seven  million  dollars,  with  an  extra  two 
hundred  thousand  to  settle  the  claims  of  the  Russian  resi- 
dents and  to  pay  the  cost  of  the  transfer. 

Late  one  night  Baron  Stoeckl,  the  Russian  ambassador 
at  Washington,  came  to  the  house  of  William  H.  Seward, 
our  Secretary  of  State,  and  told  him  that  he  had  just  re- 
ceived dispatches  from  the  Czar  authorizing  him  to  sell 
Alaska.  Secretary  Seward  was  playing  whist  at  the  time 
and  the  Ambassador  said  that  he  would  come  to  the  State 
Department  on  the  morrow  to  make  the  treaty.  Secre- 
tary Seward  replied:  “Why  should  we  wait  until  to- 

39 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


morrow,  Mr.  Ambassador?  Let  us  make  the  treaty  to- 
night.” 

“But  the  department  is  closed,”  replied  the  Russian. 
“You  have  no  clerks,  and  my  secretaries  are  scattered 
about  the  town.” 

“Never  mind  that,”  said  Secretary  Seward.  “1  can 
easily  get  the  necessary  clerks,  and  if  you  can  bring  to- 
gether your  legation  by  midnight  you  will  find  us  awaiting 
you  at  the  department,  and  we  will  settle  the  business.” 

To  this  the  ambassador  consented.  They  met  at 
twelve  o’clock  at  the  Department  of  State  and  by  four 
in  the  morning  the  treaty  was  engrossed,  signed  and 
sealed,  and  ready  for  transmission  to  the  Senate.  Within 
a month  it  had  been  approved  and  Alaska  was  ours. 

Up  to  that  time  the  territory  had  been  known  as 
Russian  America.  It  needed  a new  name,  and  all  kinds 
of  ridiculous  titles  were  suggested.  One  was  “The  Zero 
Islands,”  another  “Andy  Johnson’s  Polar  Bear  Garden,” 
another  “Seward’s  Ice  Box,”  and  a fourth  “ Walrus-sia.” 
The  treaty  was  called  the  “Polar  Bear  Treaty”  and  the 
senators  who  favoured  it  were  dubbed  the  Eskimo  sen- 
ators. The  name  “Alaska”  was  finally  chosen  at  the 
instance  of  Charles  Sumner,  who  said  that  it  was  the  title 
which  the  natives  used.  Translated, it  means  “The  Great 
Mainland.” 

The  ceremony  of  taking  possession  of  Alaska  was  per- 
formed here  at  Sitka  on  Friday,  the  1 8th  of  October,  1867. 
Two  hundred  American  soldiers  under  General  Jefferson 
C.  Davis  took  their  position  on  the  east  side  of  the  flag- 
staff near  the  castle,  and  an  equal  number  of  Russian 
soldiers  were  lined  up  opposite  them.  It  was  three  thirty 
o’clock  in  the  afternoon  when  the  Russian  captain  ordered 

40 


THE  STORY  OF  “SEWARD’S  ICE  BOX” 


his  men  to  haul  down  the  Russian  flag.  The  men  tried 
to  do  so,  but  it  had  caught  in  the  ropes  and  would 
not  move.  A Russian  soldier  climbed  up  to  bring  down 
the  flag.  He  tried  and  failed.  Another  man  tried  and 
did  not  succeed.  A third  soldier  climbed  up  and  got 
it,  but  it  slipped  from  his  hands,  was  caught  by  the  wind, 
and  fell  on  the  bayonets  of  the  Russian  soldiers.  The 
incident  was  so  affecting  that  the  Princess  Maksutoff,  who 
was  present  with  the  Russians,  wept,  and  the  soldiers  were 
visibly  moved. 

Following  this,  “Old  Glory”  was  hoisted,  and  the 
American  gunboats  in  the  harbour  and  the  Russian  bat- 
tery on  shore  fired  salutes.  Prince  Maksutoff,  the  Russian 
commissioner,  then  stepped  forward  and  said  to  General 
Rousseau,  the  American  commissioner:  “By  the  author- 
ity of  His  Imperial  Majesty  the  Emperor  of  Russia,  I 
transfer  to  the  United  States  the  territory  of  Alaska.” 
Prince  Maksutoff  then  handed  over  the  insignia  of  his 
office  as  governor,  and  General  Rousseau  made  a speech 
accepting  the  transfer.  That  was  all.  With  less  than 
two  hundred  words  Alaska’s  allegiance  was  changed  and  a 
new  empire  was  added  to  Uncle  Sam’s  domain. 

Let  me  tell  you  briefly  what  we  got  for  that  investment 
in  land  at  two  cents  an  acre.  Alaska  is  a world  in  itself, 
an  unknown  world  at  that  to  most  of  us,  though  every 
man,  woman,  and  child  in  the  United  States  is  a part 
owner.  The  territory,  which  has  an  area  of  nearly  six 
hundred  thousand  square  miles,  contains  more  than  one 
sixth  of  all  the  land  under  the  American  flag.  If  Alaska 
could  be  lifted  up  and  dropped  down  upon  the  main  body 
of  our  country,  with  its  eastern  end  touching  the  Atlantic 
Ocean  at  Savannah,  the  westernmost  end  would  be  in 

4i 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


the  Pacific  beyond  Los  Angeles.  Beginning  not  far  west 
of  Los  Angeles,  the  territory  extends  Uncle  Sam’s  domin- 
ions almost  to  Japan.  Nome  is  three  thousand  miles 
west  of  San  Francisco;  and  the  mainland  of  Alaska  is 
less  than  forty  miles  from  Siberia  at  Bering  Strait.  The 
Island  of  Attu,  at  the  end  of  the  Aleutian  chain,  is  not 
far  from  Asia.  From  north  to  south,  Alaska  reaches  al- 
most as  far  as  the  distance  from  Canada  to  Mexico. 

This  mighty  territory  is  a world  in  the  variety  of  its 
lands,  its  resources,  its  climates,  and  its  waters.  It  is  a 
country  of  seas,  lakes,  and  rivers  and  of  almost  as  many 
islands  as  the  empire  of  Japan.  It  has  a vast  continental 
mainland  with  mountains  and  valleys,  rolling  plateaus,  and 
great  lowland  plains.  The  navigable  waters  of  its  rivers 
reach  many  thousands  of  miles. 

Alaska  has  the  highest  mountains  on  the  North  Amer- 
ican continent.  It  has  some  of  the  greatest  glacial  fields 
upon  earth,  and  scores  of  its  peaks  never  lose  their  snow. 
McKinley,  which  kisses  the  sky  at  over  twenty  thousand 
feet,  is  the  tallest  mountain  north  of  the  Isthmus  of 
Panama.  A little  farther  east  is  Mount  St.  Elias,  which 
is  eighteen  thousand  feet  high,  and  about  Mount  Wran- 
gell, in  a territory  not  three  fourths  as  big  as  Massachu- 
setts, there  are  ten  snow-clad  peaks  twice  as  high  as  Mount 
Washington  and  two  which  are  higher  than  Mont  Blanc. 
The  Alaskan  Range  runs  around  the  whole  southern  coast 
and  has  a width  here  and  there  approximating  eighty 
miles.  The  Range  has  several  low  passes,  and  one  of 
these,  Broad  Pass,  is  only  twenty-seven  hundred  feet 
above  the  sea.  It  is  from  six  to  eight  miles  in  width  and 
it  forms  an  easy  way  for  Uncle  Sam’s  new  railroad  into 
the  great  central  valley. 


42 


THE  STORY  OF  “SEWARD’S  ICE  BOX” 


Like  the  senators  who  ridiculed  Secretary  Seward  when 
he  purchased  Alaska,  we  are  apt  to  think  of  it  in  terms  of 
the  North  Pole — of  mountains  of  ice  and  of  perpetual 
snow.  We  have  read  of  the  terrible  cold,  where  the 
thermometer  falls  to  seventy  degrees  below  zero;  of  the 
reindeer  and  dog  teams  flying  over  the  snow,  and  of  the 
Cimmerian  darkness  of  the  long  winter  nights.  The 
truth  is,  Alaska  is  a world  in  its  climates.  Only  one  fourth 
of  the  country  lies  inside  the  Arctic  Circle.  Parts  of  it 
are  as  temperate  as  Tennessee  or  Kentucky,  and  South- 
eastern Alaska,  a region  larger  than  Maine,  has  a winter 
climate  milder  than  that  of  Washington  city.  The  great 
Yukon  Valley,  a land  of  rolling  plains  and  plateaus,  has 
winters  like  those  of  Montana  and  northern  Dakota,  and 
the  summers  of  the  whole  territory  are  not  far  different 
from  those  of  Ohio,  Indiana,  and  Virginia.  In  midsummer 
I found  the  whole  land  covered  with  a dense  vegetation, 
and  it  seemed  to  me  that  if  any  part  of  it  could  be  set 
down  into  the  main  body  of  the  United  States  the  change 
would  not  be  recognized. 

There  is  such  crass  ignorance  concerning  the  climate 
of  Alaska  that  I shall  say  a little  more  about  latitude. 
Take  the  city  of  Seward,  the  terminus  of  our  new  railroad. 
That  town  is  no  farther  north  than  Petrograd,  and  it  is 
not  nearly  so  cold  in  winter.  Juneau,  the  capital  of 
Alaska,  is  in  about  the  same  latitude  as  Edinburgh, 
Scotland,  and  is,  I venture,  by  far  the  warmer.  The  same 
is  true  of  Sitka  and  Copenhagen.  The  whole  Scandina- 
vian peninsula  is  within  the  latitudes  of  Alaska,  and  some 
of  the  Aleutian  Islands  are  farther  south  than  Birmingham, 
England,  Berlin,  Dublin,  or  Warsaw.  Ketchikan  and 
Moscow  are  on  about  the  same  parallel. 

43 


CHAPTER  VI 


THE  THLINGETS  AND  THE  HYDAHS 

THE  Alaskan  Indians  are  of  half-a-dozen  dif- 
ferent stocks.  Those  I have  seen  most  in  my 
travels  in  Southeastern  Alaska  are  the  Thlin- 
gets,  an  Indian  family  scattered  throughout 
the  whole  of  this  part  of  the  country.  There  are  four  or 
five  thousand  of  them  divided  among  a dozen  or  more 
tribes,  including  the  Auk,  the  Chilkat,  the  Kake,  the 
Sitka,  Stikine,  Tongass,  and  Yakutat.  The  Klukwans 
are  Thlingets  and  so  are  the  Hunas.  These  people  are 
semi-civilized,  and  nearly  every  tribe  has  its  own  church 
and  school.  And  then  there  are  the  Hydahs,  numbering 
five  or  six  hundred,  and  the  Tsimpseansof  Metlakahtla. 
The  Athapascans,  who  number  about  four  thousand,  are 
divided  into  twelve  tribes  and  may  be  seen  all  along  the 
Yukon  and  Tanana  rivers.  The  Aleuts,  of  whom  there 
are  about  fifteen  hundred,  are  closely  allied  to  the  Eskimos. 
They  live  in  the  long  island  chain  extending  from  south- 
western Alaska  almost  to  Asia,  and  are  fishers  and  hunters. 
The  finely  woven  baskets  made  by  their  women  show  that 
they  have  some  artistic  ability. 

The  Indians  of  Alaska  look  far  more  like  the  Chinese 
and  Japanese  than  like  the  Red  Men  of  the  States.  They 
have  yellowish  or  light  brown  complexions.  Their  eyes 
are  a trifle  slanting,  and  their  cheek  bones  are  as  high  as 
those  of  the  Mongols  or  the  inhabitants  of  Thibet 

44 


The  Russian  cathedral  at  Sitka  is  famous  for  its  chimes  and  its  valuable 
paintings,  many  of  them  embellished  with  precious  stones.  It  refused 
twenty-five  thousand  dollars  for  this  Madonna  and  Child,  called  “The 
Lady  of  Kazan.’’ 


The  Chilkat  blankets,  originally  made  only  for  chiefs,  are  always  of  three 
colours — white  for  the  wool  from  which  they  are  woven,  black  for  the 
Crow  clan,  and  yellow  for  the  beak  of  the  patron  bird  of  the  Eagles. 


The  Indians  once  thought  that  the  evil  spirits  causing  disease  could  not  be 
exorcised  without  noise  of  rattles  like  these.  Before  beginning  his  work 
the  witch  doctor  always  took  a drink  of  native  paint. 


THE  THLINGETS  AND  THE  HYDAHS 


When  they  are  dressed  like  white  men  it  is  difficult  to 
tell  them  from  the  Japanese  who  come  north  to  work  in 
the  fish  canneries,  and  it  is  a question  whether  they  did 
not  originally  come  from  Asia,  crossing  from  Kamchatka 
in  their  canoes  to  the  Aleutian  Islands  and  making  their 
way  to  the  Alexander  Archipelago.  Bering  Strait  is  only 
fifty  or  sixty  miles  wide,  and  there  are  two  islands  in  the 
midst  of  it,  so  that  it  would  have  been  easy  for  the 
Chukchi  and  other  Mongolian  tribes  to  cross  over  from 
Asia  to  the  mainland  of  this  continent. 

Some  of  the  Indian  customs  here  are  the  same  as  those 
that  prevailed  in  Japan  before  it  adopted  western  civiliza- 
tion, and  it  is  not  hard  to  imagine  that  these  customs 
may  have  come  down  from  their  Mongolian  ancestors. 
For  instance,  when  I first  visited  Japan,  every  widow 
shaved  her  head  as  smooth  as  a billiard  ball  to  show  that 
she  was  mourning  for  her  husband.  She  also  stained 
her  teeth  black  to  make  herself  unattractive.  The 
widows  of  the  Thlingets  shaved  their  heads  the  same 
way  until  the  missionaries  taught  them  better,  and  they 
even  painted  their  faces  black  as  a sign  of  mourning. 
The  black  used  was  a water  colour,  and  if  this  were 
streaked  with  tears  it  brought  the  widow  respect  because 
of  her  grief  for  her  dead  husband.  Cremation  is  com- 
mon in  Japan.  It  was  for  years  practised  in  Alaska.  The 
Chinese  will  undergo  any  privation  to  have  a good  funeral. 
The  Alaskan  Indians  do  likewise. 

In  Southeastern  Alaska  I have  seen  many  of  the  Thlin- 
gets. These  Indians  are  found  on  the  coast  and  in  the 
islands  of  the  Panhandle,  their  settlements  extending  as 
far  north  as  Prince  William  Sound.  They  are  the  Indians 
best  known  to  the  tourists,  and  their  totem  poles  or  tribal 

45 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


emblems  and  coats-of-arms,  although  gradually  dis- 
appearing with  the  advance  of  civilization,  are  still  to  be 
seen  in  the  villages.  The  Thlingets  always  build  their 
villages  near  the  shore;  since  nine  tenths  of  their  support 
comes  from  fishing,  they  like  to  live  right  on  the  beach. 
Nearly  every  family  has  its  boats,  while  some  families  even 
own  gasoline  launches.  Their  houses  are  usually  scattered 
about,  without  regard  to  any  fixed  plan.  It  is  only  lately 
that  any  of  them  have  had  gardens.  In  the  past  the 
buildings  were  made  of  rude  slabs  and  bark  thrown  to- 
gether over  pole  rafters.  No  house  had  a chimney  or 
window  and  the  smoke  passed  out  through  a hole  in  the 
roof.  Now,  most  of  the  houses  are  shingle-roofed,  com- 
fortable frame  dwellings  with  windows  and  chimneys. 
Some  of  them  are  ceiled,  and  some  are  papered  and 
painted.  The  Indians  have  become  good  carpenters  and 
use  modern  tools.  The  newer  buildings  show  some  regard 
for  sanitary  requirements,  and  a few  of  their  towns  have 
plank  sidewalks  and  electric  plants. 

In  Klukwan  the  Indians  have  piped  the  water  from  the 
mountains  and  established  a municipal  water  system. 
Klukwan  is  a village  of  the  Chilkats,  on  the  Chilkat 
River  not  far  from  Skagway.  The  town  is  said  to  be 
three  hundred  years  old  and  to  have  once  had  a population 
of  a thousand  souls.  Its  people  were  traders,  exchanging 
dried  fish  and  oil  for  furs  with  the  Athapascans  of  the 
interior.  The  Chilkats  are  great  trappers.  They  have 
divided  their  hunting  grounds  among  the  various  families 
and  the  hunting  rights  descend  from  generation  to  genera- 
tion. They  have  been  noted  for  their  skill  in  the  various 
industries.  They  wove  blankets  a century  ago.  They 
also  forged  copper  and  did  beautiful  carving.  Much  of 

46 


THE  THLINGETS  AND  THE  HYDAHS 


this  skill  departed  upon  the  advent  of  civilization,  but 
they  now  make  moccasins  and  cut  out  miniature  totem 
poles  and  other  things  for  the  tourists. 

The  settlement  of  Klukwan  has  a flourishing  coopera- 
tive store,  which  is  so  good  that  it  gets  much  trade  from 
the  whites,  and  it  is  said  that  the  Indians  come  a distance 
of  a hundred  miles  to  buy  there.  The  town  has  its  men’s 
club,  which  holds  meetings  every  week,  when  matters  of 
town  interest  are  discussed. 

The  Government  is  trying  to  induce  these  Indians  to  go 
into  canning  and  some  canning  machinery  has  been  sent 
there.  The  school  teachers  advise  that  a sawmill  be 
installed.  They  say  that  the  boys  are  quick  to  learn 
carpentry,  and  they  are  now  making  chairs,  tables,  and 
sleds  in  the  school  shops.  Recently  they  began  to  work 
in  sheet  metal  and  to  make  airtight  stoves. 

The  work  of  civilization  among  the  Indians  has  been 
promoted  by  both  missionaries  and  school  teachers.  The 
missionaries  came  first.  They  established  schools,  in- 
dustrial and  otherwise,  and  converted  the  Indians  to 
Christianity.  After  the  missionaries  came  the  United 
States  Bureau  of  Education,  which  has  taken  charge  of  the 
natives  of  Alaska.  Beginning  with  the  establishment  of 
schools  in  all  of  the  villages,  it  has  added  many 
other  kinds  of  social  service  work  to  its  activities.  The 
teachers  are  now  instructing  the  adult  Indians  in  sanita- 
tion and  civil  government.  They  are  inducing  them  to 
establish  stores  and  to  engage  in  all  possible  self-sustaining 
industries. 

So  far  the  most  remarkable  progress  has  been  among  the 
Hydahs,  a tribe  of  five  or  six  hundred  Indians  on  Prince 
of  Wales  Island.  On  the  government  reservation  there 

47 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


they  have  built  a town  called  Hydaburg,  which  is 
perhaps  the  most  advanced  Indian  community  of  the 
world.  The  natives  have  organized  a cooperative  trading 
company  paying  big  dividends  to  the  stockholders.  In 
1911,  when  the  settlement  was  first  organized,  the  par 
value  of  a share  in  the  Hydaburg  Trading  Company  was 
ten  dollars.  Ten  years  later  the  accumulation  on  each 
share,  including  the  stock  dividend  and  the  purchase 
dividend  each  year,  amounted  to  almost  two  hundred  and 
fifty  dollars.  The  company  now  owns,  besides  its  store,  a 
saw-mill,  a cannery  and  dock,  a moving  picture  outfit,  an 
automobile  truck,  and  equipment  for  electric  lighting. 

Nearly  every  family  in  Hydaburg  has  stock  in  this 
trading  company,  and  the  people  are  rapidly  growing  well- 
to-do.  Many  have  gasoline  launches  and  all  have  com- 
fortable homes.  The  town  elects  its  own  officers.  It 
has  a mayor  and  councilmen  and  the  business  of  the  place 
is  transacted  in  English. 

One  of  the  first  cooperative  works  was  the  building  of  a 
sidewalk.  There  was  no  money  in  the  village  treasury, 
but  the  young  men  brought  in  the  proceeds  of  their  sea- 
son’s fishing,  and  the  Indian  girls  had  a basket  social. 
Two  hundred  and  ninety  dollars  were  realized  from  the 
food  sold.  This  bought  the  lumber,  and  the  men  gave 
their  labour  for  nothing.  That  sidewalk  is  the  best  in 
Southeastern  Alaska.  It  is  ten  feet  wide  and  more  than 
half  a mile  long. 

Since  then  the  citizens  have  erected  a municipal  dock 
four  hundred  and  forty  feet  long,  with  a front  of  fifty- 
five  feet.  The  cooperative  store  has  created  a hunger  for 
business  training,  and  business  methods  are  taught  in  the 
school.  The  village  has  town  meetings  at  which  all 

48 


One  of  the  government  teachers  reports  that  he  has  supervised  the 
making  of  seventeen  native  school  gardens  inside  the  Arctic  Circle.  At  a 
fair  at  Nulato  two-pound  potatoes  were  exhibited  by  proud  child  gardeners. 


Under  the  leadership  of  the  United  States  Bureau  of  Education  the  In- 
dians now  manage  their  own  cooperative  stores.  They  patronize  the  candy 
counter  so  much  as  to  injure  the  teeth  of  the  rising  generation. 


The  tendency  of  the  Alaska  Indian  is  to  dress  more  and  more  like  the 
whites,  but  the  native  garb  and  regalia  are  still  often  seen.  Indian  women 
are  by  no  means  slaves  and  frequently  control  the  family  purse. 


THE  THLINGETS  AND  THE  HYDAHS 


matters  of  public  interest  are  discussed  and  the  popular 
vote  determines  what  shall  be  done. 

The  Hydahs  are  not  Thlingets.  They  belong  to  a 
different  Indian  family,  and  for  a long  time  their  only 
home  seems  to  have  been  on  Queen  Charlotte  Island  off 
the  coast  of  British  Columbia.  Later  some  of  them  moved 
to  the  west  coast  and  about  two  hundred  years  ago,, 
according  to  their  traditions,  they  drove  the  Thlingets 
out  of  a part  of  Prince  of  Wales  Island  and  settled  there. 
They  have  always  been  considered  superior  Indians  and 
have  had  the  reputation  of  being  the  best  painters, 
carvers,  and  canoe  builders  of  Southeastern  Alaska.  In 
the  past  they  hollowed  their  canoes  out  of  single  logs  of 
cedar,  and  built  houses  of  cedar  beams  and  planks,  which 
were  worked  out  with  adzes  of  stone.  At  one  time  there 
were  something  like  eight  thousand  of  them,  but  during 
our  possession  of  Alaska  the  number  in  the  United  States 
territory  has  never  been  more  than  six  or  eight  hundred. 

Among  the  other  movements  to  better  the  Indians  of 
Alaska  is  that  of  school  farming.  Both  children  and 
adults  are  shown  how  to  make  gardens,  and  some  of  the 
villages  are  growing  vegetables  and  berries  of  various 
kinds.  One  of  the  teachers  reports  that  he  has  supervised 
the  making  of  seventeen  native  gardens  inside  the  Arctic 
Circle. 

The  Government  is  doing  all  it  can  to  improve  the 
sanitary  conditions  among  the  Indians.  The  teachers  are 
cleaning  up  the  towns  and  the  doctors  and  nurses  of  the 
Bureau  of  Education  go  from  village  to  village  and  give 
directions  for  the  care  of  the  sick  as  well  as  instruction  in 
how  to  keep  the  well  healthy.  It  is  estimated  that  thirty 
per  cent,  of  the  natives  have  consumption  in  some  form 

49 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


or  stage  and  that  eight  per  cent,  of  the  deaths  are  due 
to  tuberculosis. 

Of  late  a number  of  the  squaws  have  taken  to  feeding 
their  infants  from  the  bottle.  Since  they  know  nothing 
about  the  preparation  of  this  baby  food,  many  of  the 
children  come  out  of  the  nursing  stage  feeble  and  scrawny. 
The  school  children  are  examined  for  trachoma,  adenoids, 
and  other  diseases.  They  are  taught  to  take  care  of  their 
teeth  and  are  warned  against  the  use  of  tobacco  and 
alcohol. 

Alcohol  has  been  the  curse  of  the  Indians  of  Alaska. 
It  is  said  that  before  the  coming  of  the  Russians  they 
knew  nothing  of  liquor  in  any  form.  But  they  soon  ac- 
quired the  art  of  brewing  and  drinking,  first  the  Russian 
quass,  and  later  American  whiskey.  I ts  sale  to  the  I ndians 
has  long  been  forbidden,  but  there  have  always  been  some 
whites  willing  to  make  money  by  supplying  the  natives 
with  whiskey. 

The  Alaskan  Indians  try  to  imitate  the  whites  in  many 
ways.  They  are  now  dressing  much  the  same,  except 
that  they  delight  in  brighter  colours.  During  my  trip  we 
have  had  a number  of  Indian  men  and  women  with  us  on 
the  steamers.  The  other  day  a young  squaw  sat  down 
at  the  table  opposite  two  travelling  salesmen  from  Seattle. 
As  the  meal  went  on  they  noticed  that  the  girl’s  orders 
were  the  same  as  their  own.  She  was  pretending  to  study 
the  menu,  but  they  concluded  that  she  could  not  read 
and  that  this  was  her  first  experience  with  the  white 
man’s  victuals.  Thereupon,  one  of  them  ordered  for 
his  dessert  a slice  of  custard  pie  and  winked  at  his  friend 
to  do  the  same.  The  squaw  in  her  turn  gave  a similar 
order.  When  the  pie  came  one  of  the  travelling  men 

50 


THE  THLINGETS  AND  THE  HYDAHS 


seized  the  catsup  bottle  and  sprinkled  a liberal  allowance 
of  hot  tomato  sauce  over  his  pie.  His  friend  followed  suit 
and  then  shoved  the  catsup  across  the  table  to  the  copper- 
skinned girl.  She  did  the  same,  only  more  so.  The  men 
stopped  eating  to  watch  the  agony  of  the  Indian.  The 
fair  squaw,  however,  heroically  finished  her  pie  without 
winking,  and,  as  far  as  any  one  could  see,  the  joke  was  on 
the  salesmen. 


5 8 


CHAPTER  VII 


TOTEM  INDIANS  AND  THEIR  CUSTOMS 

IN  SOUTHEASTERN  Alaska  a curious  survival  of 
the  old  Indian  customs  is  seen  in  the  totem  poles 
which  the  natives  used  to  put  up  before  each  house 
and  often  over  the  graves  of  the  chiefs  and  heads  of 
families.  These  totem  poles  are  neither  tombstones  nor 
idols,  and  they  were  never  regarded  as  such  by  the 
Indians.  They  are  tribal  crests  or  coats-of-arms,  of 
which  the  natives  are  as  proud  as  are  the  nobility  of 
Europe  of  their  emblems  of  heraldry.  The  Indian  can 
read  the  story  of  a totem  pole  as  easily  as  we  read  a news- 
paper. He  knows  just  what  each  sign  means,  and  where 
the  tribal  sign  ends  and  the  individual  signs  begin.  The 
totem  in  front  of  a house  tells  him  not  only  who  lives  there, 
but  also  the  story  of  the  owner’s  ancestors.  Similar 
crests  are  used  on  baskets,  on  moccasins,  and  in  carvings 
of  wood,  stone,  and  copper.  If  a native  had  a letterhead 
he  would  probably  print  some  of  these  signs  on  the  top  of 
the  sheet. 

One  of  the  former  curators  of  the  Sheldon  Jackson 
Museum  at  Sitka  says  that  the  totem  pole  was  invented 
by  the  Hydah  Indians,  and  that  it  was  of  three  different 
kinds.  One  kind  was  erected  in  front  of  a house.  This 
had  the  figures  of  different  animals,  and  represented  the 
totems  of  a family  and  their  relatives.  Another  was  called 
the  death  totem.  This  was  often  a hollow  mortuary  post 

52 


Members  of  the  Bear,  the  Whale,  and  the  Frog  families  are  buried  under 
their  respective  totems  in  the  native  cemetery  at  Klukawn.  Their  memo- 
rials are  carved  of  marble  quarried  near  by. 


The  breast  bone  of  the  mallard  duck  furnishes  the  design,  and  totemic 
emblems  the  decorations,  for  the  best  Indian  boats.  This  old  canoe  was 
adapted  by  the  white  man  for  mail  delivery. 


TOTEM  INDIANS  AND  THEIR  CUSTOMS 


which  contained  the  ashes  of  the  dead  and  was  sometimes 
erected  over  the  grave.  A third  class  of  totem  poles  was 
put  up  by  the  Hydahs  to  memorialize  remarkable  events. 
These  totems  were  historical  records  and  their  story  was 
told  by  series  of  carved  figures — a sort  of  picture-writing. 
The  Hydahs  were  divided  into  three  classes:  the  rich,  the 
middle  classes,  and  the  slaves.  The  slaves  were  never 
allowed  to  erect  poles  in  front  of  their  dwellings,  and  the 
higher  the  pole,  as  a general  rule,  the  richer  and  more 
aristocratic  the  owner. 

The  totem  poles  about  the  dwellings  of  the  Indians 
range  in  height  from  that  of  a man  to  that  of  a four-story 
house.  They  are  carved  out  of  solid  tree  trunks,  and  some 
of  the  larger  ones  are  valued  at  several  thousand  dollars 
apiece.  Many  of  them  are  beautifully  carved,  their 
ugliness  being  that  of  design  rather  than  execution. 
Most  of  the  carvings  are  of  animals  and  birds,  The  house 
poles  indicate  to  which  of  the  two  great  families  of  South- 
eastern Alaska  the  inmates  belong.  These  are  known  as 
the  Eagle  and  the  Crow.  Each  has  its  subdivisions,  which 
are  shown  by  subtotems.  To  the  Eagle  family  belong  the 
subdivisions  of  the  Bear,  Wolf,  Shark,  Whale,  and  others; 
and  to  the  Crow  family  belong  the  Seals,  Frogs,  Salmons, 
and  Beavers.  There  are  numerous  other  subdivisions,  but 
they  all  belong  either  to  the  Eagles  or  the  Crows. 

According  to  the  unwritten  law  of  these  Indians,  a 
husband  and  wife  cannot  be  of  the  same  tribal  family. 
A Miss  Crow  must  always  expect  to  marry  a Mr.  Eagle. 
It  is  perfectly  proper  for  her  to  unite  with  a Shark,  Whale, 
Wolf,  or  Bear,  for  they  all  go  back  to  the  Eagle  family, 
but  she  cannot  marry  a Salmon,  Seal,  Frog,  or  Beaver, 
who  descend  from  the  Crow. 

53 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


Some  branches  of  the  families  so  divided  are  much 
more  aristocratic  than  others,  and  a woman  who  marries 
beneath  her  is  considered  to  have  disgraced  her  family. 
She  is  more  despised  than  an  English  duchess  who  marries 
a shopkeeper,  and  at  her  death  her  relatives  will  not  chip 
in  for  as  costly  a funeral  as  though  she  had  married  in  her 
own  class.  A daughter  of  one  of  the  Brown  Bear  divi- 
sions would  be  shamed  by  a marriage  with  a son  of  the 
Mouse  or  the  Snail,  while  the  Crows  and  Eagles  at  the 
top  of  the  genealogical  tree  can  marry  only  one  another. 

Another  curious  thing  is  the  high  position  that  woman 
has  always  held  among  these  Indians.  She  rules  the 
family.  No  bargain  is  made,  no  journey  is  undertaken, 
no  important  thing  done  without  consulting  her.  On 
the  totems  the  emblem  of  the  wife  is  at  the  very  top  of 
the  pedigree  pole,  and  the  totem  of  the  husband  comes 
lower  down.  Any  Indian,  on  seeing  the  totem  pole,  can 
tell  the  family  of  the  mother  and  knows  that  it  rules  the 
house.  If  he  belongs  to  the  same  family  he  is  sure  to  be 
welcome,  but  otherwise  he  thinks  awhile  before  he  risks 
stopping. 

I am  told  that  most  of  these  Indian  families  were 
founded  by  women.  The  Bear  family  started  with  a 
chief’s  daughter,  who,  according  to  the  legend,  was  out  one 
day  with  some  other  girls  picking  strawberries.  A great 
bear  came  up  and  all  of  the  girls  but  the  chiefs  daughter 
ran  away.  She  put  her  hands  on  her  hips  and  laughed  at 
him.  Thereupon  the  bear  ran  after  the  other  maidens 
and  killed  them.  He  fell  in  love  with  the  girl  who  had 
scorned  him  and  made  her  his  wife.  The  fruit  of  the 
union  was  a child  half  girl  and  half  bear,  who  became  the 
maternal  ancestor  of  all  the  natives  now  belonging  to  the 

54 


TOTEM  INDIANS  AND  THEIR  CUSTOMS 


Bear  totem.  Another  story  tells  how  a family  originated 
with  a female  grizzly  bear,  and  a third  of  how  a woman 
founded  the  tribe  of  Woodworms. 

The  Indians  love  a fine  funeral.  They  will  take  what 
they  have  and  borrow  more  from  their  friends  to  spend 
in  making  a great  show.  They  put  the  favourite  posses- 
sions of  the  deceased  with  the  body  and  clothing  and  bed- 
ding alongside  the  coffin.  After  the  funeral  is  over  they 
give  a great  feast  in  honour  of  the  departed,  eating  the 
food  which  is  supposed  to  nourish  his  spirit  as  it  goes  to 
the  other  world.  In  Southeastern  Alaska  it  rains  so 
much  and  the  soil  is  so  shallow  that  the  Indians  do  not 
bury  their  dead  in  graves,  but  put  them  in  little  wooden 
vaults  that  look  like  tiny  houses  set  upon  poles.  In  the 
early  days,  before  the  coming  of  the  missionaries,  many  of 
these  Indians  burned  their  dead,  depositing  their  ashes 
in  hollow  poles.  Among  some  of  the  tribes  the  ashes  and 
bones  left  after  the  cremation  of  a body  were  put  into  a 
sack  which  was  kept  in  the  family  dead  house. 

Indeed,  these  and  other  customs,  myths,  and  folklore  of 
the  Alaskan  Indians  are  so  interesting  that  our  Govern- 
ment should  put  its  scientists  to  work  gathering  a record 
of  them  before  it  is  too  late.  We  need  some  such  work  in 
Alaska  as  Frank  Cushing  did  among  the  Zunis  and  James 
Mooney  among  some  of  the  Indian  tribes  of  the  West. 
What  we  have  concerning  the  natives  of  Alaska  comes 
largely  from  missionaries,  and  from  Ivan  PetrofF,  who 
wrote  a great  part  of  the  census  of  1880.  Mr.  Livingston 
F.  Jones  lived  for  twenty  years  among  the  Thlingets  and 
got  his  information  concerning  them  at  first  hand.  His 
book,  “A  Study  of  the  Thlingets  of  Alaska,”  gives  legends 
of  the  Crow,  Deer,  and  other  families,  and  includes  tra- 

55 


ALASKA-OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


ditions  of  many  of  the  tribes.  The  Whale  family,  for 
example,  is  said  to  have  originated  from  an  Indian  boy 
who  amused  himself  by  carving  images  of  whales  out  of 
cedar  and  sailing  them  upon  the  waters.  One  day  one 
of  his  cedar  whales  expanded  before  his  eyes  and  turned 
into  a real  live  whale,  which  swam  away.  From  this  fact 
his  parents  knew  he  would  become  a great  chief,  and  he 
did  not  disappoint  them,  for  he  founded  the  Whale  tribe, 
branches  of  which  are  scattered  throughout  Southeastern 
Alaska. 

The  Thlingets  have  legends  concerning  the  origin  of 
man  and  telling  how  the  sun,  the  moon,  and  the  stars  came 
to  be.  According  to  their  story  of  the  flood,  all  the  men 
and  animals  were  destroyed  with  the  exception  of  a 
raven.  This  raven  was  a sort  of  witch  bird.  He  could 
change  himself  at  will  and  put  his  feathers  off  or  on  like  a 
garment.  When  the  flood  had  gone  down,  he  looked 
about  for  a mate  of  his  own  kind,  but  could  find  none.  At 
last  he  took  a cockle-shell  from  the  beach  and  called  it 
his  wife.  By  and  by  he  heard  a faint  cry  from  the  shell 
like  that  of  a baby.  The  noise  grew  louder  and  louder, 
and  at  last  a little  female  child  came  out.  This  child 
married  the  raven  and  from  the  two  came  all  of  the 
Indians  of  this  part  of  the  world,  and  so  the  country  was 
p«opled. 

The  raven  is  held  sacred  among  the  Thlingets,  who  in 
the  past  considered  him  a god.  He  was  known  as  Yehl, 
the  creator  of  the  world.  He  was  the  benefactor  of  man- 
kind and  enjoyed  the  greatest  respect.  His  power  was 
unlimited.  He  put  sun,  moon,  and  stars  in  their  places, 
and  from  him  came  man,  animals,  and  plants.  Before  he 
was  born  the  world  was  dark;  but  with  him  came  light. 

56 


ALASKA  AND  THE  UNITED  STATES  COMPARED 

If  Alaska  could  be  laid  upon  the  United  States,  it  would  cover  eight  states  of  our  Middle  West  and  with  the  Panhandle  resting 
on  the  Georgia  Coast,  the  tip  of  the  Aleutian  Islands  would  fall  on  the  shore  of  the  Pacific  Ocean  in  southern  California. 


TOTEM  INDIANS  AND  THEIR  CUSTOMS 


Few  people  realize  the  change  that  has  been  brought 
about  among  these  Indians  through  the  work  of  the  mis- 
sionaries and  the  bringing  in  of  our  civilization.  Canni- 
balism was  common  along  the  coast  of  British  Columbia 
when  Father  Duncan  came.  Slavery  existed  among 
the  Thlingets  at  the  time  we  took  possession  of  the 
territory,  and  Ivan  Petroff  in  his  report  for  the  Govern- 
ment on  the  condition  of  these  Indians  in  1880  said  that 
able-bodied  slaves  were  slaughtered  on  festive  occasions, 
and  that  it  was  not  uncommon  for  a rich  man  or  chief  to 
have  slaves  killed  and  buried  with  him,  in  order  that  he 
might  have  servants  in  the  spirit  land.  There  are  Indians 
living  in  Alaska  to  day  who  were  slaves  in  their  youth, 
and  it  is  said  their  children  are  looked  down  upon  by  the 
families  which  have  always  been  free.  The  slaves  were 
of  two  classes — those  captured  in  warfare  and  those  born 
into  bondage.  The  children  of  slaves  became  slaves  in 
turn,  waited  upon  their  masters,  did  all  sorts  of  menial 
work,  and  were  cruelly  treated.  Not  infrequently  they 
were  sacrificed  to  emphasize  the  power  and  wealth  of  an 
owner,  who  thus  showed  that  he  could  afford  to  destroy 
such  valuable  property. 

Before  the  missionaries  came  polygamy  prevailed.  To- 
day marriages  are  usually  held  in  the  churches.  Monog- 
amy is  common,  and  even  the  chiefs  seldom  have  more 
than  one  wife.  In  the  past  some  of  the  heads  of  the 
tribes  had  as  many  as  twenty  wives.  A Russian  au- 
thority speaks  of  a man  on  the  Nass  River  who  had  forty. 
In  such  cases  the  first  wife  ruled  the  harem.  Child  mar- 
riages used  to  be  common,  and  even  now  marriages  take 
place  at  an  early  age.  One  of  the  old  Thlinget  customs 
was  to  pen  up  the  girls  in  some  out-of-the-way  place  as 

57 


ALASKA — OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


they  reached  the  marriageable  age.  A wooden  coop  or 
jail  was  made  for  the  maiden  where  she  was  kept  for 
from  four  months  to  a year.  There  was  no  light  in  the 
coop  except  what  filtered  through  the  cracks,  so  that  when 
the  door  was  opened  tl.e  girl  came  out  pale  and  wan  and 
supposedly  humble  and  ready  for  marriage.  The  mar- 
riages were  usually  arranged  by  the  relatives,  and  the 
girls  were  carefully  restrained  from  making  any  advances 
to  the  men. 

Mr.  Livingston  Jones  says  that  infanticide  was  not  un- 
common. Twins  were  considered  bad  luck  and  were 
often  killed  at  birth.  The  usual  method  of  killing 
babies  was  to  stuff  their  mouths  with  moss  or  grass,  and 
they  were  usually  carried  into  the  woods  to  be  put  to 
death.  This  was  done  by  the  women,  generally  the  rela- 
tives of  the  mother. 

Mr.  Jones  tells  some  queer  stories  of  how  the  natives 
received  the  white  man’s  civilization.  When  they  first 
saw  a steamboat  they  thought  it  was  a demon  and  took 
to  the  woods.  They  called  it  a fire  canoe  and  thought  it 
might  bring  some  terrible  disease,  such  as  smallpox. 
To  ward  off  the  danger  they  pulled  up  certain  native  vege- 
tables, which  they  held  below  their  eyes  as  they  looked  at 
the  steamboat.  They  went  wild  over  the  phonograph 
when  it  came  and  paid  a quarter  to  hear  a single  tune. 
When  the  first  negro  came  north  they  advanced  all  kinds 
of  theories  as  to  what  made  him  black,  and  when  they 
saw  a man  with  a wooden  leg  they  regarded  him  with 
great  wonder.  Another  curiosity  was  a man  who  had  a 
wig,  which  he  put  on  and  off,  and  a still  greater  marvel 
was  a store  keeper  who  had  a set  of  false  teeth.  The 
Indians  flocked  to  the  store,  and  their  amazement  knew 

58 


TOTEM  INDIANS  AND  THEIR  CUSTOMS 


no  bounds  when  they  saw  him  take  out  of  his  mouth  a set 
of  uppers,  gums  and  all,  and  then  replace  them.  The 
natives  came  in  from  many  miles  around  to  see  the  won- 
derful sight,  aud  the  storekeeper  found  his  “set”  an  ex- 
cellent business  getter. 


59 


CHAPTER  VIII 


FARM  LANDS  OF  THE  FUTURE 

I HAVE  just  had  my  first  view  of  the  practical 
possibilities  of  Alaskan  farming.  Our  Agricultural 
Department’s  experimental  station  at  Sitka  is  the 
headquarters  from  which  the  four  other  experiment 
stations  are  managed.  One  of  these  is  at  Rampart,  on  the 
Yukon  River,  near  the  Arctic  Circle.  Another  is  near 
Fairbanks,  in  the  rich  valley  of  the  Tanana,  in  the  heart  of 
Alaska;  a third  is  on  the  Island  of  Kodiak,  not  far  from 
Seward;  and  the  fourth  is  in  the  Matanuska  Valley,  which 
is  being  opened  up  by  the  government  railroad.  Kodiak 
is  bigger  than  Porto  Rico.  Its  specialty  is  stock  raising 
and  dairying.  The  Fairbanks  station,  which  is  in  the 
centre  of  a great  agricultural  region,  is  devoted  to  all- 
round farming.  Rampart  is  so  far  north  that  it  forms 
the  best  place  for  experiments  in  raising  oats,  barley,  and 
wheat  for  planting  in  cold  lands.  At  Matanuska  grain, 
hogs,  cattle,  and  potatoes  are  raised.  The  government 
farm  at  Sitka  lies  under  the  shadow  of  Mount  Verstovia, 
about  a quarter  of  a mile  from  the  town.  The  experiments 
here  are  chiefly  in  raising  vegetables,  berries,  and  small 
fruits.  This  is  because  of  the  character  of  Southeastern 
Alaska,  which,  though  a region  of  rich  vegetation,  is 
better  adapted  to  small  farms  and  truck  gardens  than  to 
large-scale  farm  operations. 

1 wish  I could  show  you  the  vegetation  of  Southeastern 

So 


Small  fruits  and  vegetables  in  southeastern  Alaska  grow  to  twice  the 
size  usual  in  the  States.  It  is  believed,  however,  that  Alaska  farmers’ 
truck  gardens  will  be  limited  to  supplying  local  markets. 


On  the  way  to  Mendenhall  Glacier  cows  pasture  on  rich  grass  in  the 
shadow  of  snow-capped  mountains.  This  section  of  Alaska  should  some 
day  have  many  small  farms. 


Pea  crops  like  this  raised  on  a farm  near  Sitka  prove  conclusively  that 
Alaska  lands  are  ready  to  yield  bountiful  harvests,  needing  only  cultiva- 
tion to  make  them  wonderfully  productive. 


FARM  LANDS  OF  THE  FUTURE 


Alaska.  For  the  last  month  I have  been  travelling  along 
the  coast  and  in  and  out  among  the  islands,  and  the  flowers 
and  trees  are  a series  of  surprises.  The  topography  of 
the  country  is  much  like  that  of  the  Alleghanies  or  the 
Blue  Ridge,  but  the  forests  are  thicker  and  the  growth 
is  denser.  Nearly  everywhere  the  bushes  are  so  thick  that 
it  would  be  impossible  to  make  a way  through  them  with- 
out an  axe  or  a knife.  Beginning  at  the  water’s  edge,  the 
forest  runs  to  the  snow  line  about  a thousand  feet  above 
the  sea.  For  that  distance  the  trees  are  choked  with 
undergrowth;  but  above  it  the  heavy  vegetation  disap- 
pears, and  a carpet  of  grass  or  moss  stretches  up  to  the 
edge  of  perpetual  snow. 

Everywhere  in  the  forest  there  is  spongy,  ankle-deep 
moss.  Many  of  the  trees  are  hung  with  mosses,  and  the 
bushes  beyond  the  tree  line  seem  to  bend  over  and  cling  to 
the  ground,  bowed  down,  I suppose,  by  the  heavy  snow 
which  lies  upon  them  during  the  winter.  The  chief  trees 
are  evergreens.  There  are  many  spruce,  and  red  and  yel- 
low cedars,  including  a vast  deal  of  timber  which  would 
make  wood  pulp  and  which  in  the  future  will  probably 
supply  the  newspaper  demands  of  the  States.  The  In- 
dians use  the  cedar  bark  to  make  rope,  and  they  tear  out 
the  inner  part  of  it  and  weave  it  into  baskets  and  cloaks. 

And  then  the  wild  flowers!  They  grow  everywhere. 
There  are  Alpine  geraniums,  goldenrod,  and  buttercups, 
and  bluebells  with  cups  an  inch  long.  There  are  yellow 
violets  and  red  daisies  and  lilies  as  black  as  ink.  There 
are  rosy  laurel  and  pink  bryanthus  and  little  blue 
forget-me-nots  such  as  we  have  at  home.  Southeastern 
Alaska  has  three  varieties  of  orchids  and  other  air  plants 
as  well. 


61 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


This  is  a land  of  berries.  The  salmonberry,  which  is 
ripe  throughout  the  summer,  is  twice  as  large  as  the 
largest  raspberry,  and  tastes  much  the  same.  There  are 
also  raspberries  that  grow  on  the  ground  and  cranberries 
of  several  varieties.  There  are  wild  strawberries  and 
blueberries  and  red  huckleberries.  Strawberries  are 
raised  commercially  at  Haines  and  are  shipped  to  Juneau 
and  other  towns. 

As  to  the  cultivated  parts  of  Southeastern  Alaska,  they 
are  so  few  at  this  writing  that  they  are  hardly  worth 
mentioning.  Coming  up  from  Seattle  the  tourist  does 
not  see  a dozen  farms  bigger  than  a bedspread;  and  in 
most  places  the  land  is  so  steep  that  it  reminds  m^.,  of 
West  Virginia,  where  it  is  said  the  corn  is  planted 
with  shotgun s** from  t^re  opposite  hills.  Nevertheless, 
back  in  the  valleys  are  little  cultivated  patches  where  the 
pioneers  have  cleared  off  the  dense  timber  and  set  up  their 
homes.  Professor  C.  C.  Georgeson,  who  is  at  the  head  of 
the  government  agricultural  experiments  in  the  territory, 
tells  me  that  there  will  eventually  be  many  small  farms  scat- 
tered throughout  this  part  of  Alaska.  He  says  that  they 
will  grow  up  to  supply  the  mining  centres  with  vegetables 
and  fruits.  He  does  not  expect  them  to  come  soon,  be- 
lieving that  it  will  be  the  task  of  a generation  or  so  to  clear 
the  forests  and  take  off  the  moss.  He  thinks  the  coast 
region  is  best  adapted  to  gardening,  chicken  raising,  and 
dairying,  while  the  natural-grass  meadows  may  be  utilized 
for  stock  raising. 

Small  farms  are  already  growing  up  about  many  of  the 
fishing  stations.  One  of  the  best  of  these  is  that  of  C.  A. 
Burckhardt,  the  president  of  the  Alaska  Pacific  Fisheries 
at  Yess  Bay,  just  north  of  Ketchikan.  He  tells  me  that 

62 


FARM  LANDS  OF  THE  FUTURE 


he  raises  rhubarb  with  leaves  as  big  as  a parasol  and 
stems  the  length  of  a baseball  bat  and  quite  as  thick.  He 
grows  strawberries  four  inches  in  circumference. 

Mr.  Burckhardt,  who  spends  only  his  summers  in 
Alaska,  takes  his  Jersey  cow,  Daisy,  back  and  forth  with 
him  each  season.  She  was  first  brought  up  on  account  of 
Mr.  Burckhardt’s  baby  daughter,  and  the  experiment 
worked  so  well  that  Daisy  has  spent  her  summers  in  the 
North  ever  since.  She  seems  to  know  when  the  time  has 
come  to  flit  southward.  She  goes  on  board  the  ship  with- 
out urging  and  thrives  under  these  changes. 

At  the  Sitka  experiment  station  there  are  acres  of  straw- 
berries and  raspberries  and  orchards  of  apples,  cherries, 
and  apricots.  The  strawberries  are  finer  than  I have 
seen  in  any  part  of  the  United  States  or  Europe.  The 
plants  are  vigorous  and  are  loaded  with  fruit.  1 saw  some 
berries  almost  as  big  as  hen’s  eggs  and  many  over  an 
inch  in  diameter.  These  big  berries  have  been  produced 
by  cross-breeding  the  wild  native  plants  with  other  straw- 
berries brought  here  from  all  parts  of  the  world.  There 
are  now  several  thousand  different  kinds  of  strawberries 
growing  at  the  station,  but  nearly  all  of  them  have  more 
or  less  Alaskan  blood  in  their  veins.  I wish  you  could 
taste  them.  They  are  strawberry  all  through.  Only  a 
few  have  a tart  flavour,  and  most  of  them  are  so  delicious 
that  they  fairly  melt  in  your  mouth.  The  plants  are  much 
hardier  than  our  strawberries  and  bear  for  about  two 
months,  yielding  fruit  as  late  as  September. 

Among  the  other  experiments  going  on  at  this  station  is 
the  crossing  of  salmonberries  with  the  raspberry.  The 
salmonberry,  which  is  as  big  as  the  largest  blackberry,  is 
red  or  pale  yellow.  It  is  delicious  to  taste,  and  is  used 

63 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


in  great  quantities  all  over  Alaska.  Raspberries  also 
will  grow  well  almost  anywhere,  and  the  crossing  is  suc- 
cessful, although  the  new  fruit  partakes  more  of  the 
flavour  of  the  salmonberry. 

The  station  is  also  breeding  apple  and  cherry  trees  that 
will  grow  in  parts  of  the  territory,  and  is  making  experi- 
ments with  filberts  and  other  nuts  of  the  hardier  varieties. 

The  most  surprising  things  on  the  farm  are  its  pansies, 
poppies,  roses,  and  other  beautiful  flowers.  Among  the 
pansies  now  growing  are  many  as  big  around  as  the  bottom 
of  a tumbler,  and  some  are  as  black  as  ink  and  as  soft  as 
silk  plush.  There  are  also  roses  of  exquisite  perfume  and 
poppies  of  the  most  brilliant  red  and  as  big  around  as  a 
tea  plate.  These  poppies,  which  come  from  Asia  and  are 
perennial,  are  among  the  new  wonders  of  Alaska. 

1 went  over  the  experiment  farm  with  Director  George- 
son.  There  is  no  man  better  fitted  by  ability  and  ex- 
perience for  his  position.  When  I met  him  in  Japan 
years  ago  on  my  first  newspaper  trip  around  the  world, 
Mr.  Georgeson,  then  a professor  in  the  Imperial  College  of 
Agriculture  at  Tokio,  was  introducing  modern  farming 
into  the  land  of  Japan.  Born  in  Denmark,  he  had  been 
trained  in  farming  on  some  of  the  large  estates  of  that 
country  before  he  came  to  the  United  States. 

For  more  than  twenty  years  Professor  Georgeson  has 
been  in  charge  of  Uncle  Sam’s  farming  interests  in  Alaska. 
He  has  travelled  all  over  the  territory,  studying  its  soils, 
its  climate,  plant  life,  and  farming  possibilities.  He  has 
been  the  manager  of  a half-dozen  different  experiment 
stations  and  has  combed  the  world  for  grasses  and  plants 
suited  to  this  part  of  the  United  States. 

We  were  loking  at  some  alfalfa  grown  from  seed  im- 

64 


The  mills  and  forests  of  the  United  States  cannot  supply  the  demand  for 
newsprint.  Yet  in  southern  Alaska  there  are  billions  of  feet  of  spruce  and 
other  woods  suitable  for  paper  making  growing  on  slopes  accessible  to 
tidewater. 


A large  part  of  our  northernmost  territory  still  remains  unexplored,  so 
that  one  may  have  the  thrill  of  starting  off  with  packhorse  and  supplies  on 
a trip  into  the  uncharted  wilds. 


FARM  LANDS  OF  THE  FUTURE 


ported  from  Siberia,  when  I asked  Professor  Georgeson  to 
give  me  his  idea  of  the  future  of  Alaskan  farming.  He 
replied : 

“There  is  no  doubt  that  Alaska  will  some  day  support 
a large  farming  population.  I see  no  reason  why  the 
territory  should  not  eventually  have  a stable  population 
of  three  millions  or  more.  We  are  discovering  new  plants 
and  grains  every  season.  This  alfalfa,  for  example,  will 
grow  all  along  the  Yukon,  and  we  have  made  successful 
experiments  with  it  north  of  that  river.  I estimate 
that  Alaska  has  about  one  hundred  thousand  square 
miles  that  can  be  used  for  agricultural  purposes.  That 
means  that  it  has  sixty-four  million  acres,  or  an  agricul- 
tural area  as  large  as  the  states  of  Pennsylvania,  Mary- 
land, Delaware,  New  Jersey,  Connecticut,  Massachusetts, 
Vermont,  and  New  Hampshire.  It  must  not  be  under- 
stood that  all  this  land  is  available  for  cultivation,  however, 
for  the  estimate  includes  about  fifty  thousand  square  miles 
which  will  have  little  value  except  for  grazing  purposes. 

“Of  this  territory  about  fifty-seven  million  acres  lie  in 
the  interior  beyond  the  coast  range  of  mountains.  The 
other  seven  million  acres  are  in  the  coast  region  and  on 
the  islands  near  by.  Each  section  will  have  its  own  crops 
based  on  its  soil  and  climate.  Some  of  the  islands  will  be 
devoted  to  grazing  and  dairying,  while  from  the  gardens 
of  Southeastern  Alaska  vegetables  will  be  shipped  to 
Seattle  and  command  a higher  price  than  the  Puget  Sound 
produce  on  account  of  their  superior  quality.  Indeed, 
such  shipments  are  even  now  being  made.” 

In  answer  to  my  question  whether  Alaska  would  ever 
raise  dairy  products  for  the  United  States,  Professor 
Georgeson  replied: 


65 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


“There  is  no  reason  why  it  should  not.  The  climate  of 
the  Aleutian  Islands  is  so  mild  that  in  many  years  hardy 
cattle  and  sheep  can  stay  out  all  winter  or  be  kept  over 
with  a small  amount  of  hay  and  fodder.  We  can  also 
raise  cattle  in  the  Yukon  Valley,  though  there  they  have 
to  be  fed  during  nearly  eight  months  of  the  year.  In  the 
interior  grass  grows  as  high  as  my  head,  and  our  experi- 
ments have  shown  that  it  is  possible  to  raise  many  va- 
rieties of  hardy  grains.” 

“Tell  me  something  about  the  soil  of  Alaska.  How 
does  it  compare  with  that  of  the  best  parts  of  the  United 
States?” 

“The  best  soil  of  our  Middle  West,”  replied  Professor 
Georgeson,  “can  be  duplicated  in  very  few  places  on  earth. 
I doubt  whether  Alaska  has  any  agricultural  area  equal  to 
that.  The  country  has  no  prairie  lands,  and  there  are 
no  extensive  bodies  of  uniform  quality.  Still,  some  parts 
are  excellent  for  farming.  The  silt  loam  of  the  Tanana 
Valley  will  compare  in  productiveness  with  some  of  the 
best  soil  to  be  found  elsewhere,  and  we  have  at  the  Fair- 
banks station  land  excelled  only  by  the  rich  prairie  soils 
of  the  Middle  West.  There  are  good  lands  in  the  Ma- 
tanuska  and  Susitna  valleys,  and,  in  fact,  there  are 
millions  of  acres  that  can  be  made  into  farms.” 

“Where  will  be  the  farming  centre  of  Alaska?” 
“There  will  be  many  such  centres,”  said  Professor 
Georgeson.  “Farms  will  spring  up  about  every  import- 
ant mining  settlement.  Fairbanks  is  the  largest  of  the 
gold  camps  to-day  and  that  region  has  the  most  and  best 
farmers.  Since  the  Government  decided  to  build  the 
railroad  two  or  three  hundred  families  have  located  home- 
steads in  the  Matanuska  Valley  with  a view  to  supplying 

66 


FARM  LANDS  OF  THE  FUTURE 


the  demands  of  the  coal  mines  of  that  region.  There  are 
a number  of  successful  farms  in  the  neighbourhood  of 
Seward  and  many  small  ones  about  Juneau,  which  is 
another  mining  centre  of  great  importance.  There  are 
little  places  scattered  throughout  this  part  of  the  territory 
and,  indeed,  wherever  there  is  a local  market  you  will  find 
a farm  centre.  These  will  grow,  and  as  new  settlements 
are  established  other  farms  will  be  opened  up.” 

“Would  you  advise  Americans  to  come  to  Alaska  to 
engage  in  farming?”  I asked. 

“Yes,  if  they  understand  the  conditions  and  know  what 
they  are  going  to  find  when  they  reach  here  and  are  ready 
to  stay  and  grow  up  with  the  country.  I would  not 
advise  people  to  rush  in  pell-mell  and  take  up  home- 
steads wherever  they  can  be  found  simply  because  Uncle 
Sam  will  give  them  a farm  for  nothing.  The  would-be 
speculators  will  stand  a slim  chance  of  making  money  by 
a rise  in  land  values.  There  is  no  land  for  sale,  and 
Uncle  Sam  is  the  sole  owner.  He  will  give  his  real  estate 
only  to  bona-fide  settlers  who  will  keep  on  the  job.  The 
farmers  most  likely  to  succeed  are  the  men  who  know  the 
climate  and  what  crops  can  be  grown.  Norwegians  and 
Swedes  and  Finns  have  been  brought  up  under  conditions 
such  as  we  have  here.  They  are  used  to  long  winters  and 
short  summers;  they  understand  the  methods  of  culture 
necessary,  and  they  are,  1 believe,  best  suited  to  the 
country.” 

“How  much  money  should  a young  man  have  who 
wishes  to  take  up  a homestead?  Give  me  some  idea  of  the 
cost  of  clearing  the  land.” 

“The  right  young  man  might  come  to  Alaska  without 
any  money  and  make  a success,”  said  Professor  Georgeson. 

67 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


“ But  in  that  case  he  would  have  to  work  for  wages  for 
other  farmers  or  in  the  mining  camps  to  get  sufficient  to 
live  on  until  his  farm  paid.  His  path  would  not  be  an 
easy  one.  On  the  other  hand,  if  he  had  a thousand  dollars 
or  so  he  could  buy  a team  of  horses  or  yoke  of  oxen  and 
some  farm  tools.  He  could  put  up  a modest  house  and 
furnish  it. 

“He  might  still  have  to  work  out  occasionally,  but  he 
could  soon  clear  enough  land  and  get  a sufficient  start  in 
cattle,  sheep,  and  poultry  to  make  life  on  the  farm  practi- 
cable. Such  a man  should  locate  on  land  that  is  already 
surveyed  by  the  Government,  and  he  should  investigate 
the  cost  of  implements,  furniture,  and  freight  before  start- 
ing. He  will  find  the  freight  rates  high.  The  average 
price  from  Puget  Sound  to  Fairbanks  has  been  about  sixty 
dollars  a ton,  but  the  rate  via  the  new  government  rail- 
way, in  carload  lots,  will,  it  is  thought,  eventually  be  only 
half  this  much.  If  the  man  could  have  four  or  five 
thousand  dollars  it  would  be  still  better,  but  with  that 
amount  of  money  he  could  make  a fair  start  almost  any- 
where in  the  States. 

“There  is  one  thing  that  should  be  well  understood,” 
continued  Professor  Georgeson,  “and  that  is  that  the 
settler  must  have  enough  muscle  and  skill  to  do  most  of 
the  work  on  his  own  farm.  If  he  starts  out  paying  wages 
for  clearing  land  he  will  soon  be  bankrupt.  The  wages 
of  Alaska  are  governed  by  those  paid  in  the  mines  of  the 
interior,  most  of  which  are  usually  much  higher  than 
wages  in  the  States.  Sometimes  it  has  cost  us  as  much  as 
one  hundred  and  twenty-five  dollars  an  acre  to  clear  land 
on  the  experiment  station  farms.” 


68 


Even  oil  is  included  in  the  mineral  wealth  of  Alaska.  The  petroleum 
lake  shown  here  is  in  the  region  of  Point  Barrow,  the  northernmost  tip  of 
our  continent. 


Clouds  float  down  the  mountain  wall  behind  the  city  into  the  main 
street  ot  Juneau,  a centre  of  the  mining  and  fishing  industries,  buzzdng  with 
politicians,  lawyers,  promoters,  and  tourists. 


CHAPTER  IX 


AT  JUNEAU 

E/ING  Alaska’s  old  capital,  I have  come  on  to 
Juneau,  the  capital  of  to-day  and  the  biggest  city 
of  the  territory.  It  is  a great  mining  and  fishing 
centre  and  a live,  up-to-date  place.  Here  are 
the  residences  of  the  governor  and  the  chief  officials, 
whose  offices  are  in  an  old  frame  structure  not  far  from 
the  governor’s  mansion,  and  here  the  territorial  legis- 
lature meets  every  two  years.  Juneau  has  also  a pre- 
tentious frame  courthouse  of  two  stories  with  a little  dome 
on  the  top,  and  a city  hall  with  a cupola  that  reminds  one 
of  the  head  of  a pearl  diver  in  his  diving  suit,  ready  to  drop 
into  the  deep. 

Most  of  the  houses  of  Juneau  are  of  frame.  The 
country  about  is  covered  with  timber,  and  there  are 
great  sawmills  at  the  wharves  that  supply  the  building 
materials.  Of  late,  however,  concrete  structures  have 
been  going  up. 

The  Juneau  of  to-day  has  only  three  thousand  inhabi- 
tants, but  every  man  in  the  town  is  a hustler,  and  the 
place  hums  with  politicians,  lawyers,  tourists,  and  miners. 
The  crowd  is  of  all  classes  and  costumes.  Some  of  the 
men  wear  clothes  of  the  latest  cut  of  Broadway  or  Fifth 
Avenue,  while  others  wear  slouch  hats,  mackinaws,  and 
khaki  trousers.  Some  have  on  boots  that  reach  to  the 

69 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


knees,  and  now  and  then  you  meet  one  in  white  rubber 
pantaloons. 

Drays,  automobiles,  and  carriages  move  about  through 
the  city  and  a motor  stage  runs  to  the  mining  town  of 
Thane  three  miles  down  the  channel.  At  that  place  are 
the  mills  and  reduction  plant  of  the  Alaska  Gastineau  gold 
properties.  Near  by  are  the  Juneau  gold  mills,  and  on 
the  other  side  of  the  channel,  in  plain  view,  are  the  Tread- 
well mines,  with  the  towns  of  Treadwell  and  Douglas 
around  them. 

Juneau  is  beautifully  situated  on  the  mainland,  at 
the  head  of  the  Gastineau  Channel,  a narrow  strait 
which  separates  it  from  Douglas  Island.  The  channel 
connects  Stephens  Passage  with  the  Lynn  Canal,  at 
the  northern  end  of  which  is  Skagway.  The  harbour 
is  so  good  that  all  of  the  ships  that  pass  through 
Alaskan  waters,  excepting  those  plying  between  Seattle 
and  Nome,  call  here.  During  the  summer  there  are 
boats  north  or  south  every  day  and  tens  of  thousands 
of  tourists  pass  through. 

The  town  is  right  on  the  water,  with  wooded  mountains 
rising  almost  perpendicularly  behind  it  to  a height  of  per- 
haps two  thousand  feet.  1 have  seen  cliffs  of  this  height 
in  other  parts  of  the  world,  but  they  were  mostly  straight 
walls  of  gray,  red,  and  black  rock,  as  bleak  and  bare  as 
the  Desert  of  Sahara.  The  walls  behind  Juneau  are 
covered  with  a vegetation  as  green  as  that  of  the  Valley 
of  the  Nile. 

The  city  is  cut  out  of  the  rocks  or,  rather,  it  is  propped 
up  by  them.  Most  of  the  houses  and  streets  stand  upon 
stilts.  The  irregularities  of  the  rocky  foundation  have 
been  overcome  by  a trestlework  of  piles.  The  wharves 

70 


Ketchikan  is  built  on  the  steep  mountainside  rising  up  from  the  water. 
The  streets  are  planks  laid  on  piles,  and  a four-horse  dray  or  heavy  motor 
truck  jars  a whole  block. 


Eddystone  Rock  is  not  as  great  a menace  to  ships  on  the  southeastern 
coast  of  Alaska  as  the  many  similar  pinnacles  which  lie  hidden  under  the 
water. 


AT  JUNEAU 

are  on  piles,  and  from  the  channel  as  the  tide  falls  they 
look  like  an  army  of  centipedes  tramping  out  to  the  ocean. 

It  is  now  planned  to  fill  in  the  space  between  the  piles 
with  the  waste  rock  dust  from  the  gold  mills,  thus  giving 
Juneau  a substantial  foundation.  In  the  town  of  Doug- 
las, over  the  way,  a beach  of  such  tailings  was  made  along 
the  edge  of  the  channel  and  the  baseball  grounds  are  laid 
out  upon  them.  Millions  of  dollars  have  come  from  the 
sand  lying  inside  that  diamond. 

The  streets  of  Juneau  consist  of  more  than  ten  miles  of 
planked  roadways  running  up  hill  and  down.  They  give 
no  spring  to  the  feet,  and  your  hips  keep  bobbing  up  to 
your  waist  and  tire  your  anatomy.  Both  the  central 
wooden  roadways  and  sidewalks  are  so  tipped  that  the 
water  runs  off  into  gutters  of  wood.  As  such  streets 
are  costly  and  need  constant  repair,  the  plan  is  gradually 
to  replace  them  with  a macadam  of  the  gold-mine  tailings. 

The  business  section  runs  parallel  with  the  channel. 
Close  to  the  docks  are  sawmills,  lumber  yards,  sheet- 
metal  works,  and  machine  shops,  and  farther  back  are 
long  streets  devoted  to  stores,  banks,  and  shops  of  all 
kinds.  The  town  with  its  department  stores,  cigar 
factories,  daily  newspapers,  and  thriving  banks  does  a 
much  larger  volume  of  business  than  would  be  handled  in 
a place  several  times  its  size  in  the  United  States. 

Chicken  Ridge,  the  Nob  Hill  of  Juneau,  is  at  the  upper 
end  of  the  city,  well  back  from  the  water.  The  residents 
are  not  in  love  with  the  name  and  talk  of  changing  it  to 
Bellevue  or  Bon  Air,  or  some  other  less  plebeian  title. 
The  houses  are  pretty  two-story  frame  structures  built 
on  patches  cut  out  of  the  rocks.  The  richest  man  in  the 
town  has  a lawn  about  as  big  as  a parlour  rug,  which  tour- 

7» 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


ists  are  taken  to  see  as  one  of  the  sights  of  the  city.  Other 
fine  homes  are  still  higher  up  and  some  of  them  cling  to 
the  green  wall  of  the  mountains.  When  I made  a call  last 
evening  upon  the  editor  of  one  of  the  Juneau  papers  1 
had  to  climb  a pathway  several  times  as  high  as  that  which 
leads  to  the  Tea  House  of  the  One  Hundred  Steps  above 
Yokohama,  Japan. 

These  houses  of  J uneau  have  no  double  windows  or  other 
special  arrangements  for  winter  protection.  Nevertheless, 
the  people  tell  me  they  have  no  trouble  in  keeping  warm. 
The  thermometer  seldom  falls  below  zero,  and  the  heavier 
water  pipes  are  laid  on  the  top  of  the  ground.  The  chief 
complaint  is  of  the  long  nights  and  the  short  days.  In 
midwinter  the  electric  lights  have  to  be  turned  on  two  or 
three  hours  after  noon,  and  it  is  not  daylight  until  nine 
o’clock  in  the  morning.  In  midsummer  there  are  but 
few  hours  of  real  darkness.  Up  to  ten  o’clock  at  night 
one  can  go  anywhere  without  lights,  and  the  dawn  comes 
between  two  and  three  o’clock  in  the  morning. 

The  winter  climate  here  suits  even  the  Negroes,  those 
children  of  the  tropical  sun.  I had  my  shoes  shined  this 
morning  by  a coloured  bootblack  whose  stand  is  on  the 
main  street.  He  charged  me  fifteen  cents  for  the  shine, 
and  told  me  that  in  the  interior  I shall  have  to  pay  not 
less  than  a quarter.  As  he  worked  I asked  him  if  the 
winter  did  not  chill  his  African  blood.  He  replied  “no,” 
adding  that  the  winters  here  are  quite  as  warm  as  those  of 
Baltimore,  where  he  was  born,  and  that  most  of  the  time 
he  does  not  need  even  an  overcoat.  He  has  lived  four 
years  in  Alaska,  and  has  worked  as  far  north  as  Anchorage, 
the  railroad  town  on  Cook  Inlet.  He  complains  that 
Juneau  is  a poor  place  for  bootblacks,  except  in  the  sum- 

72 


AT  JUNEAU 

mer.  The  winters  have  so  much  rain  that  the  people  go 
about  in  oilskins  and  rubbers  and  no  one  wants  a shine. 

I am  living  at  the  Hotel  Zynda,  a concrete  five-story 
building  not  far  from  the  courthouse  and  the  governor’s 
residence.  It  has  some  rooms  with  baths  and  an  elevator 
that  runs  now  and  then— usually  then.  Like  most  of  the 
Alaska  hotels  it  has  no  dining  room,  and  I have  to  walk 
two  or  three  blocks  to  the  restaurants.  The  food  is 
excellent  and  comparatively  cheap.  As  these  Alaskans 
have  big  appetites,  the  caterers  make  their  portions  gener- 
ous. One  order  of  chops  or  steak  is  sufficient  for  two 
people,  and  a single  order  of  cracked  crab  is  more  than 
one  man  can  eat.  The  crabs  here  are  as  big  around  as  a 
dinner  plate  and  delicious.  The  menu  is  a la  carte,  and 
as  many  of  the  dishes  are  given  French  names  as  the 
vocabulary  of  the  restaurant  keeper  will  permit.  Among 
those  on  the  bill  of  to-day,  for  instance,  were  “consomme 
en  cup”  and  “beefsteak  en  platter.”  The  waiters  were 
good-natured  girls  from  Sweden. 

Many  summer  visitors,  less  informed  than  I was,  bring 
to  Alaska  a great  supply  of  unnecessary  clothing.  They 
load  up  with  furs  and  overcoats  only  to  find  that  the 
interior  of  the  country  is  roasting  and  that  the  children 
are  going  about  with  bare  feet.  A party  which  went 
down  the  Yukon  this  season  had  nothing  but  heavy 
woollens  along.  Their  steamer  ran  aground  on  one  of  the 
islands  where  they  were  stranded  for  five  days  with  the 
thermometer  at  ninety  degrees  in  the  shade. 

The  same  ignorance  prevails  as  to  the  food  of  the 
country.  The  multimillionaire  president  of  a gold- 
dredging company  of  the  Klondike  brought  a load  of  fresh 
meats  and  vegetables  with  him  to  Dawson  for  fear  he 

73 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


would  suffer.  When  he  got  there,  he  found  at  the  hotel 
everything  he  had  on  his  ship. 

They  tell  a story  here  of  one  of  the  merchants  of 
Cordova,  the  ocean  terminus  of  the  Copper  River  Rail- 
road, who  ordered  some  woollen  goods  from  a Minnesota 
mill  through  an  agent  in  Seattle.  The  goods  should  have 
arrived  within  thirty  days.  Upon  their  failure  to  come, 
the  agent  wrote  the  Minnesota  firm  and  received  the 
reply  that  the  order  had  not  been  filled,  as  navigation  was 
already  closed  and  there  was  no  use  in  making  any  ship- 
ment to  Alaska  at  that  time  of  the  year.  The  truth  is 
that  Cordova  is  right  on  the  Pacific  Ocean  and  ships  call 
there  every  week  the  year  round. 

A Chicago  man  recently  said  to  an  Alaskan,  who  was 
telling  stories  about  his  country:  “1  can  believe  every- 
thing but  what  you  say  about  the  mosquitoes.  There 
can  be  no  mosquitoes  in  a land  where  there  is  so  much  ice 
and  snow.”  Any  one  who  has  travelled  in  Alaska  in 
summer  knows  that  the  country  abounds  in  mosquitoes, 
and  that  at  times  it  is  impossible  to  go  anywhere  in  the 
woods  unless  every  bit  of  one’s  skin  is  protected. 

Many  of  our  people  evidently  think  that  the  Klondike 
belongs  to  Alaska  and  that  Dawson  is  one  of  its  cities. 
This  ignorance  extends  even  to  some  of  the  government 
officials  at  Washington.  Not  long  ago  one  of  the  big 
executives  of  our  Post  Office  Department  sent  a letter  of 
censure  to  the  postmaster  at  Dawson  because  he  had 
not  been  submitting  his  reports  to  the  department  at 
Washington.  He  told  the  postmaster  that  the  Dawson 
office  would  be  closed  unless  a report  was  submitted  at 
once.  The  postmaster  replied  that  Dawson  was  the  capital 
and  chief  city  of  Yukon  Territory,  and  that  its  reports  went 

74 


AT  JUNEAU 

only  to  the  Canadian  Government  at  Ottawa.  The  in- 
cident occasioned  great  laughter  in  this  part  of  the  world 
and  the  Dawson  agent  thought  so  much  of  it  that  he  had 
the  letter  framed  and  hung  up  in  the  post  office. 

To  give  another  instance:  One  of  the  clerks  of  our 
Treasury  Department  once  wrote  to  an  official  at  Sitka, 
when  that  town  was  the  capital,  that  the  Treasury  had 
very  few  blanks  of  the  kind  Sitka  had  asked  for,  but  that 
the  Alaska  official  might  easily  run  across  to  Nome  and 
get  some,  as  Nome  had  a double  supply.  Now,  Nome  is 
as  far  from  Sitka  as  New  York  is  distant  from  Omaha. 
The  only  way  is  by  sea,  the  voyage  is  as  long  as  from  New 
York  to  Liverpool,  and  the  steamers  go  once  a month. 

Few  people  appreciate  the  distances  in  Alaska.  By  the 
ordinary  summer  routes  it  is  from  eighteen  hundred  to 
two  thousand  miles  from  J uneau  to  Fairbanks.  Neverthe- 
less, a merchant  of  the  latter  town  told  me  that  he  had 
received  a letter  from  a Boston  firm,  saying  that  they  had 
drawn  upon  him  through  a banking  establishment  at 
Juneau. 

Another  citizen  of  Fairbanks  ordered  a well-known 
dictionary,  consisting  of  ten  or  eleven  volumes,  which  had 
been  extensively  advertised  in  the  magazines.  The  man 
sent  the  money  and  asked  that  the  books  be  delivered  at 
Fairbanks.  A month  or  more  afterward  he  received  a 
letter  saying  that  the  books  had  been  shipped  him  from 
the  publishers’  Canadian  branch,  the  company  evidently 
thinking  that  Fairbanks  was  in  Canada.  The  result  was 
that  the  books  were  held  at  the  international  boundary  for 
duty  and  have  not  yet  been  delivered. 

Another  amusing  story  belongs  to  the  time  of  the 
boundary  dispute  between  the  United  States  and  Canada. 

75 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 

When  the  subject  came  up  in  Congress  a senator  wanted  to 
know  “when  the  Lynn  Canal  was  dug  and  who  dug  it.” 
When  it  is  remembered  that  the  Lynn  Canal  is  one  of 
the  great  fiords  of  the  North  American  continent  and  that 
it  was  ploughed  out  by  Nature  in  the  prehistoric  past,  the 
fund  of  information  of  the  questioner  can  be  appreciated. 

A letter  received  at  Juneau  from  a Philadelphia  firm  in 
response  to  an  order  for  certain  goods  to  be  sent  C.  O.  D. 
stated  that  the  Philadelphia  firm  could  not  send  goods 
C.  O.  D.  to  foreign  countries. 

Whatever  the  degree  of  ignorance  about  it  “outside,” 
Alaska  is  far  from  lacking  in  culture.  1 am  surprised  at 
the  number  of  college  men  I run  across  in  Southeastern 
Alaska.  More  than  half  of  the  professional  men  are  grad- 
uates of  colleges,  and  J uneau  has  a thriving  university  club. 
The  majority  are  from  western  institutions,  but  Yale,  Har- 
vard, Princeton,  and  Cornell  all  have  their  representatives. 
The  graduates  of  the  University  of  Washington  at  Seattle 
came  to  dinner  together  on  one  occasion  and  thirty-five  sat 
down  to  the  table. 

The  public  schools  of  Juneau  are  good.  The  high  school 
has  its  business  branches  with  courses  in  public  speaking, 
mechanical  drawing,  sewing,  and  cooking.  It  gives  its 
graduates  certificates  admitting  them  to  the  University 
of  California  and  other  Western  colleges. 

I came  here  expecting  to  find  a population  of  men  only. 
The  sexes  are  almost  equally  divided.  Many  of  the 
women  have  come  as  school  teachers,  or  as  clerks  or  stenog- 
raphers, and  have  married.  Some  of  the  young  men 
have  gone  back  home  for  their  wives,  and  the  girls  who 
are  born  here  usually  stay.  The  population  is  not  tran- 
sient, as  is  often  supposed.  I meet  daily  men  who  have 

76 


The  Governor  of  Alaska  has  his  official  residence  at  Juneau  where  the 
Territorial  legislature  meets.  Administration  is  seriously  hampered  by 
the  leagues  of  red  tape  extending  from  a score  of  government  bureaus  at 
Washington  four  thousand  miles  away. 


The  streets  consist  of  more  than  ten  miles  of  planked  roadways  laid  up 
hill  and  down.  It  is  planned  to  replace  them  with  macadam  made  from 
the  tailings  of  the  gold  mines  of  Douglas  and  Treadwell. 


The  mills  of  the  Gastineau  mines  are  said  to  be  the  largest  and  most 
modern  gold-crushing  plants  of  the  world.  The  machinery  is  designed 
to  get  the  maximum  of  the  gold  specks  from  the  rock  with  the  minimum 
of  labour  and  expense. 


AT  JUNEAU 

been  in  Alaska  from  fifteen  to  thirty  years,  and  find  young 
men  and  women  who  expect  to  spend  their  lives  here. 

There  is  much  civic  spirit  in  the  town,  which  believes 
in  municipal  ownership.  It  owns  and  operates  the  prin- 
cipal wharf  and  it  has  a fuel  depot  where  it  supplies  coal 
to  the  city.  This  municipal  establishment  has  at  times 
had  a marked  effect  in  keeping  down  the  price  of  both  coal 
and  gasoline  as  sold  by  local  dealers.  The  city  has  also 
aided  in  the  building  of  a cold  storage  plant  with  a 
freezing  capacity  of  eighteen  thousand  pounds  a day  and 
storage  rooms  for  fifty  thousand  pounds  of  fish. 


CHAPTER  X 


M 


TREASURES  UNDER  THE  SEA 

Y TYPEWRITER  is  clicking  away  on  the 
roof  of  the  modern  Cave  of  Aladdin.  The 
rock  underneath  me  has  been  cut  up  into 
tunnels,  which  wind  about  in  a maze  more 
complicated  than  the  labyrinth  of  Rosamond’s  Bower. 
Some  of  the  passageways  go  far  out  under  the  ocean 
and  others  have  been  cut  for  miles  through  the  mountain. 
Out  of  them  have  come  treasures  far  more  valuable  than 
those  brought  by  the  Slaves  of  the  Lamp,  and  from  them 
to-day  a long  procession  of  genii  is  continually  marching, 
bringing  out  fresh  gold  from  the  caverns  under  the  hills 
and  the  sea. 

I am  speaking  of  the  Treadwell  and  Alaska-Gastineau 
mines  situated  on  Douglas  Island  in  the  Gastineau 
Channel  and  on  the  mainland  opposite.  It  is  these  prop- 
erties which  have  given  to  Juneau  the  name  of  the  Golden 
Belt  City  and  made  for  her  a place  among  the  gold  centres 
of  the  world.  The  rocks  in  these  hills  have  yielded  some- 
thing like  eighty  millions  of  dollars,  or  more  than  eleven 
times  what  we  paid  for  the  entire  territory. 

There  are  in  Alaska  two  kinds  of  gold  mining — placer 
mining  and  quartz  mining.  In  placer  mining  loose  bits 
of  gold,  ranging  in  size  from  tiny  grains  to  big  nuggets, 
are  washed  out  of  gravel  or  sand,  usually  in  or  near  the 
bed  of  a stream.  The  gold  mining  around  Fairbanks  and 

78 


TREASURES  UNDER  THE  SEA 


Nome  is  of  this  character.  In  a quartz  mine  there  are 
lodes,  or  veins  of  hard  rock  sprinkled  with  specks  of  gold, 
which  must  be  ground  to  powder  before  the  gold  can  be  ex- 
tracted by  chemical  process.  Such  ores  are  known  as  high 
or  low  grade,  according  to  the  amount  of  gold  recovered 
from  a ton  of  rock.  The  mines  in  the  Juneau  district, 
the  most  important  quartz  lodes  yet  found  and  worked 
in  all  Alaska,  consist  of  low-grade  ores.  Nevertheless, 
they  have  produced  more  than  four  fifths  of  all  the  quartz 
gold  mined  in  the  territory. 

These  Juneau  mines  are  among  the  most  famous  gold 
properties,  being  the  first  where  paying  quantities  of  gold 
were  separated  from  such  low-grade  ore.  Much  of  the 
ore  in  the  Treadwell  group  contains  less  than  two  dollars’ 
worth  of  gold  to  the  ton,  and  of  the  millions  of  tons  which 
have  been  mined  the  average  has  produced  only  two 
dollars  and  forty-two  cents  per  ton.  The  Gastineau 
mines  are  an  even  lower-grade  proposition,  the  average 
there  being  only  one  dollar  and  a half  per  ton. 

Have  you  any  idea  of  what  gold  ore  carrying  only  one 
dollar  and  a half  a ton  means?  Gold  is  worth  twenty 
dollars  an  ounce,  and  at  that  rate  a dollar  and  fifty  cents’ 
worth  of  gold  would  equal  only  about  one  thirteenth  of  an 
ounce.  Divide  a twenty-dollar  gold  piece  into  thirteen 
parts  and  no  part  will  be  as  big  as  a pea.  Neverthe- 
less, that  pea  of  gold  is  all  that  is  to  be  found  in  one 
whole  ton  of  this  ore.  A ton  of  ore  is  a cartload  for  two 
horses.  Grind  your  pea  into  the  finest  powder  and  put 
one  of  the  grains  of  that  powder  into  every  bit  of  rock  in 
the  cartload  and  you  have  some  idea  of  how  the  gold  is 
scattered  through  the  rock  and  how  difficult  it  is  to  get  it 
all  out. 


79 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


Or  suppose  the  gold  to  be  salt,  and  the  ore  to  be  water. 

1 went  to  a drug  store  to-day  and  weighed  out  enough  salt 
to  just  equal  the  weight  of  the  gold  in  a ton  of  this  ore. 
The  salt  did  not  fill  a teaspoon.  But  a ton  of  water  would 
fill  a two-hundred-and-fifty-gallon  hogshead.  Now,  if 
you  should  drop  your  spoonful  of  salt  into  the  hogshead 
and  churn  up  the  water  until  the  salt  is  thoroughly  mixed 
through  it  all,  you  would  have  just  the  proportion  of  gold 
and  rock  in  some  of  the  mines  of  which  1 am  writing. 
Think  of  getting  the  pea  made  of  gold  powder  out  of  the 
cartload  of  rock  in  such  a way  that  half  of  it  will  more  than 
pay  all  the  costs,  and  you  have  the  problem  which  the 
operators  of  the  Gastineau  mine  successfully  solved. 

Obviously,  in  times  of  high  prices  for  chemicals,  sup- 
plies, and  labour,  these  mines,  like  other  low-grade  prop- 
erties, cannot  be  operated  at  a profit,  and  are  forced  to 
close  down  until  prices  drop  and  the  buying  power  of  gold 
goes  up,  or  until  cheaper  ways  of  treating  the  ore  are 
found. 

But  before  I go  further  let  me  tell  you  something  of  the 
romance  of  these  properties.  Immediately  back  of  me  on 
the  side  of  the  mountain  is  the  great  Glory  Hole,  on  the 
site  where  the  first  gold  was  discovered.  It  is  several 
hundred  feet  above  the  Gastineau  Channel,  and  far  down 
the  slope  of  the  mountain,  the  upper  portions  of  which  are 
now  covered  with  snow.  The  Glory  Hole  is  a mighty 
ellipse  eight  hundred  feet  long,  six  hundred  feet  broad, 
and  more  than  six  hundred  feet  deep.  The  Washington 
Monument  could  be  dropped  down  inside  and  its  aluminum 
tip  would  still  be  fifty  feet  from  the  top.  It  could  be  laid 
lengthwise  within  it  and  the  ends  would  not  touch  the 
sides.  The  walls  of  the  Glory  Hole  are  of  black  rock 

80 


TREASURES  UNDER  THE  SEA 


streaked  with  drab  and  gray,  while  here  and  there  is  a 
string  of  white  quartz  from  which  comes  the  gold. 

As  I looked  down  on  it,  a great  rock  slid  off  the  top 
and  went  crashing  down  to  the  bottom.  It  was  from 
such  rocks  that  the  mine  got  the  name  of  Glory  Hole. 
Miners  were  often  killed  by  them  and  thus  transported  to 
Glory.  Strange  to  say,  many  of  the  deaths  were  due 
to  crows,  which  made  the  neighbourhood  of  the  Glory 
Hole  their  favourite  roosting  and  feeding  place.  They 
were  so  numerous  that  trumpeters  were  stationed  about 
the  hole  to  warn  the  miners  of  danger  in  case  a flock  should 
light  on  the  edges.  The  first  blast  of  the  trumpet  meant, 
“The  crows  are  now  lighting,”  and  the  second  warned  the 
miners  that  the  rocks  were  loosening  and  would  soon  be 
down  upon  them.  A slight  pecking  of  the  gravel  over- 
head was  liable  to  start  an  avalanche  that  would  carry 
tons  of  rock  down  the  sides. 

Even  now  the  Glory  Hole  is  by  no  means  safe.  The 
earth  and  the  rock  about  it  have  not  yet  reached  their 
equilibrium,  and  slides  like  those  in  the  Panama  Canal 
sometimes  occur. 

The  richest  ore  of  the  Treadwell  mines  was  found  at  the 
top.  Like  cream,  it  seemed  to  have  risen  from  the  low- 
grade  gold-bearing  rock  underneath.  This  ore  was  dis- 
covered by  a Canadian  whose  nickname  was  French  Pete 
and  whose  real  name  was  Pierre  Erussard.  When  Juneau 
and  Harris  were  making  their  gold  finds  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  Gastineau  Channel,  and  beginning  to  pros- 
pect Douglas  Island,  French  Pete  came  along  with  some 
Indians.  He  washed  the  sands  on  the  beach  and  found 
colour.  A little  later  he  climbed  up  the  hills  to  where  the 
Glory  Hole  is  and  there  discovered  an  outcrop  of  gold- 

81 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


bearing  quartz  upon  which  he  located  two  claims.  He 
named  one  claim  Paris  where  he  expected  to  spend  the 
great  treasures  he  had  discovered,  and  called  the  other 
Bear’s  Nest,  because  it  was  in  a little  cave  occupied  by 
a bear  and  two  cubs.  French  Pete  then  started  mining, 
but  had  nothing  more  than  rockers  and  sluice  pots  and 
could  crush  and  wash  only  the  softer  parts  of  the  lode. 
He  did  not  get  enough  to  pay  well,  and  a little  later  on 
sold  the  mine  to  John  Treadwell  for  the  sum  of  five  hun- 
dred and  five  dollars  to  pay  a pressing  debt. 

John  Treadwell,  who  had  come  to  Alaska  at  the  instance 
of  some  California  capitalists,  had  been  prospecting  in  the 
Silver  Bow  basin,  back  of  Juneau,  and  had  found  quartz 
gold  in  the  belt  where  the  Ebner  mine  now  is.  But  the 
gold  was  poor,  and  he  was  about  to  give  up  in  despair  and 
go  back  to  San  Francisco  when  he  met  Pete  and  learned  of 
his  discovery  on  Douglas  Island.  He  went  to  see  the 
claims,  but  did  not  think  much  of  them,  as  the  ore  seemed 
to  be  of  too  low  a grade  to  pay  for  the  mining.  He  sug- 
gested, however,  that  Pete  should  give  him  a quit-claim 
deed  for  the  two  properties  for  five  hundred  dollars,  and 
he  would  try  to  sell  them  to  the  capitalists  of  San  Francisco. 
Pete  had  a store,  and  the  understanding  was  that  if  the 
mines  were  opened  the  miners  would  trade  at  his  store. 
This  was  an  additional  consideration,  and  so  for  five 
hundred  dollars  was  sold  this  property  from  which  have 
already  come  more  than  sixty  millions  of  dollars. 

The  stock  was  floated  in  San  Francisco  and  Treadwell 
got  one  third  of  it.  The  other  owners  were  large  capi- 
talists, among  them  D.  O.  Mills,  much  of  whose  fortune 
came  from  this  source.  Later  on  the  Rothschilds  of  Lon- 
don bought  into  the  property,  and  to-day  the  mine  is 

82 


TREASURES  UNDER  THE  SEA 

owned  by  the  Mills  estate,  the  Rothschilds,  and  other  rich 
men. 

From  the  start  the  mines  were  operated  with  large 
capital.  The  first  excavations  were  in  the  Glory  Hole, 
out  of  which  five  million  tons  of  gold-bearing  rock  have 
been  taken.  About  fifteen  years  ago  the  first  under- 
ground stoping  was  done,  and  then  began  the  tunnelling  of 
the  earth  and  the  work  altogether  underground.  I can- 
not tell  you  just  how  many  miles  of  underground  works 
there  now  are,  but  the  mining  goes  on  for  a long  distance 
up  and  down  the  Gastineau  Channel  and  far  out  under 
the  ocean.  The  ore  is  lifted  into  great  shafthouses,  from 
which  it  descends  by  gravity  to  the  mills.  The  ore  bodies 
dip  toward  the  channel,  and  some  of  the  tunnels  have 
hundreds  of  feet  of  salt  water  overhead. 

There  are  four  mines  in  the  Treadwell  group— the 
Treadwell,  the  Mexican,  the  Seven  Hundred,  and  the 
Ready  Bullion.  The  first  three  suspended  operations  in 
1917  when  a cave-in  flooded  the  workings. 

One  month  after  French  Pete  made  his  discovery  a 
handful  of  prospectors  landed  on  Douglas  Island.  One  of 
them  scooped  up  a pan  of  gravel  from  the  foot  of  what 
seemed  to  be  an  outcropping  of  a quartz  lode  and  washed 
it  out.  When  he  saw  what  a find  he  had  made,  he  ex- 
claimed, “We  have  it,  boys,  almost  the  ready  bullion!” 
And  so  was  christened  the  mine  which  1 went  through 
yesterday  with  Mr.  Russell  G.  Wayland,  assistant  man- 
ager of  the  Treadwell  properties. 

We  climbed  into  a five-ton  steel  bucket  as  big  as  a hogs- 
head and  held  on  to  the  rim.  Then  an  electric  signal 
was  given  and  we  shot  down  into  the  darkness.  The 
great  bucket  wobbled  this  way  and  that  as  we  fell.  Our 

8} 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


descent  was  at  an  angle  of  about  fifty  degrees.  We  con- 
tinued at  that  angle  for  something  like  two  thousand 
feet,  after  which  the  fall  was  even  more  precipitous.  At 
last  we  stepped  out  far  under  the  sea.  With  acetylene 
lamps  we  picked  our  way  through  the  tunnels  and  stopes. 
The  tunnels  were  lighted  by  electricity  and  each  of  them 
had  its  railroad.  We  walked  between  the  tracks,  stepping 
now  and  then  to  the  side,  and  squeezing  ourselves  to  the 
wall  to  let  the  ore  trains  pass.  These  trains  were  of  cars 
drawn  by  mules.  At  one  place  we  passed  a mule  stable, 
and  I was  told  the  mules  were  kept  down  in  the  mines  for 
several  years  at  a time.  Those  I saw  were  fat  and  not  at 
all  vicious.  The  darkness  does  not  affect  their  eyesight, 
as  is  generally  supposed. 

1 stopped  now  and  then  in  the  stopes,  or  great  caverns, 
where  the  miners  were  blasting  the  ore.  They  use  drills 
operated  by  compressed  air  to  sink  the  holes  for  the  dyna- 
mite, and  thus  blast  out  great  rooms  away  down  under 
the  water.  These  stopes  are  several  hundred  feet  high, 
and  of  almost  an  acre  in  area.  Some  of  them  are  filled 
with  gold  ore  nearly  to  the  roof.  Nevertheless,  only  a 
slab  of  rock  lies  between  them  and  the  ocean. 

Leaving  the  mines,  1 went  through  the  mills,  where  they 
were  crushing  the  mighty  masses  of  rock  to  powder  and 
saving  the  small  quantities  of  gold.  The  red  buildings 
may  be  seen  from  the  ship’s  deck  as  one  rides  up  the 
channel.  They  wall  the  sides  of  the  hills  and  as  one  comes 
near  them  a noise  like  so  many  blasts  of  artillery  fills  the 
air.  Inside  the  din  is  furious.  You  may  shout  into  the 
ear  of  the  man  at  your  side  but  you  cannot  make  yourself 
heard.  You  cannot  even  hear  your  own  words.  “Niag- 
ara is  a soft  hum  beside  Treadwell,’’  said  John  Burroughs. 

84 


<! 


A few  miles  back  from  the  coast  of  southeastern  Alaska  are  countless 
lakes  and  waterfalls,  most  of  them  of  glacial  origin,  which  will  some  day 
be  put  to  work  to  furnish  power  for  paper  or  other  mills. 


Many  of  the  icebergs  are  the  size  of  a New  York  office  building.  Such 
baby  fellows  as  these  on  the  beach  of  Taku  Inlet  are  lassoed  by  steamers 
for  their  ice  chests. 


TREASURES  UNDER  THE  SEA 


The  noise  is  from  the  hundreds  of  stamps,  which  are  al- 
ways falling  upon  the  ore  to  pulverize  it.  As  the  ore  comes 
in,  it  is  of  all  sizes  from  that  of  the  broken  stone  of  a ma- 
cadamized road  to  masses  as  big  as  a flour  barrel.  The 
larger  chunks  are  broken  until  fit  for  the  stamps.  These 
reduce  everything  to  a powder  as  fine  as  the  finest  flour 
dust. 

As  one  of  the  mills  was  not  working,  I was  able  to  ex- 
amine the  stamps.  Each  consists  of  a long  steel  beam  as 
big  around  as  the  arm  of  a man  fitted  into  a mighty  steel 
shoe  eight  inches  in  diameter  and  perhaps  a foot  long. 
This  shoe  is  fastened  to  the  end  of  the  stamp,  and  the 
stem  and  shoe  together  weigh  about  half  a ton.  In 
crushing  the  ore,  the  stem  is  raised  and  dropped  on  the 
ore  one  hundred  times  every  minute.  Think  of  dropping 
a half  ton  upon  rock  every  time  your  watch  ticks  and 
you  have  a slight  idea  of  the  power  that  grinds  this  ore. 
There  are  hundreds  of  these  stamps  working  at  once,  and 
as  you  look  at  them  you  do  not  wonder  at  the  racket. 
This  smashing  goes  on  day  and  night,  Sundays  and  week 
days,  all  the  year  through. 

The  wear  and  tear  on  the  machinery  is  enormous.  The 
shoes  are  of  solid  steel.  Each  of  them  is  twice  as  big  as  a 
loaf  of  bread,  but  it  is  worn  to  the  thinness  of  a knife 
blade  after  it  has  crushed  three  tons  of  ore.  The  iron 
block  upon  which  the  ore  lies  is  soon  ground  away  and 
has  to  be  replaced  for  every  five  tons. 

The  process  of  getting  the  ore  out  of  the  gold  dust  after 
the  crushing  is  simple.  In  front  of  the  stamps  is  an 
apron  of  netting  made  of  wires  put  together  in  a mesh  finer 
than  that  of  any  kitchen  sieve.  As  the  ore  is  crushed  a 
stream  of  water  carries  the  hour  dust  through  the  mesh 

85 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


and  it  falls  on  to  inclined  tables  of  copper  coated  with 
quicksilver.  Now,  quicksilver  has  an  affinity  for  gold, 
and  as  the  powdered  ore  flows  over  it  it  swallows  the  free 
gold  and  the  rock  Sand  passes  on.  After  a time  the 
quicksilver  becomes  loaded  with  gold.  It  is  then  scraped 
off  and  put  into  a furnace,  where  the  heat  vaporizes  the 
mercury  and  the  pure  gold  only  is  left. 

In  addition  to  this  free  gold  there  is  some  in  the  baser 
minerals  found  in  the  rock.  These  minerals  are  taken  out 
on  shaking  tables  and  then  treated  to  a cyanide  bath, 
which  sucks  up  the  gold  just  as  water  takes  up  any  salt 
dropped  into  it.  The  cyanide  water  is  then  put  through  a 
process  which  makes  it  give  up  the  gold. 


CHAPTER  XI 


THE  WORLD’S  GREATEST  GLACIERS 

BETWEEN  Lynn  Canal  and  Seward  there  are 
more  than  five  thousand  glaciers.  Hundreds 
) of  them  come  down  to  the  sea  and  twenty- 
five  are  now  dropping  icebergs  into  the  tide- 
waters. 

With  the  exception  of  Greenland  and  Antarctica 
Alaska  is  the  greatest  glacier  region  of  the  world.  It  has 
many  glaciers  in  the  southeastern  part  of  the  territory, 
some  of  the  biggest  of  which  can  be  seen  in  a ride  of  four 
or  five  days  from  Seattle  on  a comfortable  steamer.  I 
am  now  in  the  Lynn  Canal  on  my  way  from  Juneau  to 
Skagway.  My  ship  has  been  moving  in  and  out  among 
icebergs  of  crystal  sapphire  right  up  to  the  precipitous 
ends  of  these  ice  rivers  that  are  slowly  flowing  down  the 
sides  of  the  mountains.  Now  and  then  the  tide  leaves 
icebergs  on  the  shores,  and  the  tall  pines  bend  over  and 
sweep  them  with  their  branches. 

Looking  through  my  stateroom  window,  I can  see  a 
wall  of  snow-capped  mountains  green  almost  to  their 
tops.  Just  opposite  me  is  a great  field  of  ice  upheld 
between  two  lofty  peaks.  That  field  is  miles  in  width 
and  slopes  upward  into  the  clouds.  It  is  a glacier. 

The  true  glacial  region  of  Alaska  begins  a little  beyond 
the  international  boundary  and  runs  from  there  along 
the  coast  as  far  as  from  New  York  to  Chicago.  It  skirts 

8? 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


the  ocean  and  extends  for  a hundred  miles  or  so  back  into 
the  interior. 

Most  of  the  glaciers  are  north  and  west  of  Skag- 
way  within  an  area  about  one  hundred  miles  wide  and 
five  hundred  miles  long,  a region  perhaps  as  large  as 
New  York  State.  This  does  not  comprise  one  tenth  of 
Alaska,  but  it  is  that  part  of  the  country  most  frequen- 
ted by  tourists,  whose  stories  have  given  the  idea  that 
the  territory  is  nothing  but  mountains  of  ice. 

The  interior  of  Alaska  is  comparatively  low;  the  coast 
glacial  region  is  rugged  and  high.  Many  of  the  mountains 
are  lost  in  the  clouds  and  some  of  them  kiss  the  skies  at 
an  altitude  higher  than  any  other  part  of  the  continent. 
They  are  so  high,  so  steep,  and  so  cold  that  they  precipitate 
the  moisture  rising  from  the  warm  ocean  currents  that 
wash  southern  Alaska,  and  give  the  snowfall  that  has 
built  up  the  glaciers  and  keeps  them  alive. 

Let  me  show  you  some  of  these  big  ice  masses.  Taku 
Inlet  is  a fiord  eighteen  miles  long  walled  with  steep 
mountains  and  guarded  by  islands.  In  steaming  up  it 
one  can  count  forty-five  glaciers.  At  the  end  is  the  Taku, 
the  front  of  which,  where  it  enters  the  sea,  is  a mile  wide 
and  more  than  two  hundred  feet  high.  At  a little  distance 
from  the  sea  the  glacier  is  two  miles  wide  and  it  continues 
to  broaden  for  about  eight  miles,  until  it  is  lost  in  a great 
ice  field  close  to  the  boundary  of  British  Columbia. 

The  Taku  Glacier  is  a live  glacier — that  is,  it  is  moving 
down  to  the  ocean  and  dropping  great  bergs  into  the  sea. 
It  is  travelling  at  the  rate  of  eight  or  ten  feet  a day  and 
some  of  the  masses  which  fall  from  it  are  as  large  as  a 
city  skyscraper.  Close  by,  so  near  that  it  can  be  photo- 
graphed by  a swing  of  the  camera,  a dead  glacier  shows  out 

88 


THE  WORLD’S  GREATEST  GLACIERS 


gray  and  dusty  on  the  other  side  of  the  hill  at  the  west. 
This  is  about  a mile  wide  but  it  seems  to  end  at  the  shore. 

It  was  at  five  o’clock  in  the  morning  that  I had  my 
first  sight  of  the  Taku  Glacier.  The  sun  was  already  two 
hours  high,  and  its  rays  catching  the  icebergs  floating 
about  in  the  inlet  turned  them  to  enormous  sapphires. 
There  were  hundreds  of  these  blue  masses  through  which 
our  steamer  pushed  its  way  to  the  face  of  the  ice  wall.  It 
took  us  right  up  to  the  glacier,  so  that  we  were  within  six 
hundred  feet  of  the  ice  when  we  stopped. 

At  that  moment  the  sun  came  out  of  the  clouds  and 
shone  full  on  the  glacier,  which  became  one  vast  expanse  of 
silver  frosted  with  diamonds  and  sparkling  with  sapphires. 
A moment  later,  with  a deafening  report,  a great  fragment 
of  ice  broke  off  and  the  face  of  the  glacier  looked  like  a 
mighty  cutting  of  the  whitest  ice  cream,  while  the  berg 
fell  into  the  water  and  rose  up  a gigantic  floating  mass  of 
aquamarine. 

As  we  anchored  the  wind  came  to  us  over  the  glacier. 
It  had  been  warm  in  the  inlet,  but  here  the  icy  breath  of 
Jack  Frost  sent  a chill  to  our  bones.  It  was  so  cold  that 
I could  hardly  write. 

The  face  of  the  glacier  is  ragged.  Its  top  has  hundreds, 
I might  say  thousands,  of  peaks,  some  of  them  as  sharp 
as  spires  and  others  broken  and  shattered.  It  reminds 
one  of  the  relief  map  of  a rugged  mountain  range.  The  ice 
is  melting  and  now  and  then,  with  a noise  like  thunder, 
a great  mass  plunges  off  into  the  water.  The  shooting 
of  a cannon  would  bring  down  hundreds  of  icebergs,  and 
the  vibration  of  the  air  caused  by  the  blowing  of  our  steam 
whistle  never  failed  to  send  an  avalanche  of  ice  into  the 
water. 


89 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 

The  captain  of  the  Humboldt  gave  a number  of  salutes 
to  show  the  effect  of  the  sound.  As  the  shriek  of  the 
whistle  tore  the  air,  immense  blocks  began  to  drop  from 
the  glacier.  As  the  whistle  continued  to  blow  there  was 
crash  after  crash,  and  at  one  time  a mass  as  big  as  a New 
York  office  building  broke  away  and  splashed  down  into 
the  ocean.  It  buried  itself  in  the  water,  throwing  a mighty 
spray  almost  to  the  top  of  the  glacier,  and  causing  great 
billows  to  roll  out  to  the  steamer.  A moment  later  it 
rose  to  the  height  of  a hundred  feet  above  the  sea  and 
moved  up  and  down  on  the  surface  of  the  water. 

As  the  mountain  of  ice  fell  I said  to  the  captain  of  the 
Humboldt,  a giant  of  a man,  “You  remind  me  of  Joshua 
who  commanded  the  trumpets  to  blow  and  the  walls  of 
Jericho  fell.  ” 

The  scenery  of  the  glacier  was  so  beautiful  as  to  be 
awe-inspiring.  It  brought  out  expressions  of  wonder 
from  the  tourists.  I remember  especially  the  words  of 
one  woman  who  stood  at  my  elbow.  She  said: 

“My,  ain’t  that  grand!  It  reminds  me  of  the  drop 
curtain  at  our  opery  house.  But  there  ain’t  no  polar 
bear  here.” 

As  the  great  ice  mass  fell  into  the  water  a man — he 
may  have  been  a restaurant  keeper — remarked: 

“Gee,  what  a lot  of  ice  cream  a man  could  make  out  of 
that  bunch!” 

The  ice  as  it  comes  from  the  glaciers  seems  pure  enough 
for  ice  cream  or  even  lemonade.  The  ships  sometimes 
fill  their  ice  chests  by  lassoing  the  smaller  bergs  and  hoist- 
ing them  on  board.  For  a long  time  considerable  business 
was  done  in  picking  up  this  ice  and  selling  it  to  the  mining 
camps  and  towns.  About  fifty  years  ago  glacier  ice  was 

90 


THE  WORLD’S  GREATEST  GLACIERS 


shipped  from  southern  Alaska  to  San  Francisco  at  seventy- 
five  dollars  a ton,  and  a little  later  contracts  were  made  at 
thirty-five  dollars. 

Not  far  from  the  glacier  we  saw  a large  deer  swimming 
about  in  the  water.  Our  steamer  passed  within  two 
hundred  feet  of  him,  and  a Texan  on  board  said  he  could 
have  lassoed  him  from  the  deck.  The  deer  had  magni- 
ficent antlers.  Its  horns  and  head  rose  above  the  water 
and  its  body  could  be  seen  close  to  the  surface.  It  was 
still  swimming  as  we  moved  onward  and  we  saw  some 
hunters  near  the  shore  start  out  to  catch  it.  They  chased 
the  animal  this  way  and  that,  and  finally  dragged  it  into 
thejr  boat. 

From  Juneau  I rode  out  in  an  automobile  to  see  the 
Mendenhall  Glacier.  The  moraine  of  this  mighty  ice 
mass  lies  within  nine  miles  of  the  city.  One  can  leave  the 
liveliest  section  of  the  liveliest  town  in  Alaska,  surrounded 
by  mines  and  mills,  by  stores  and  banks  and  the  other 
activities  of  business  men,  and  within  less  than  an  hour  be 
in  the  heart  of  the  wilds  and  in  the  shadow  of  one  of  the 
most  famous  glaciers  of  this  wonderful  territory. 

Think  of  going  to  a glacier  by  automobile!  I have 
climbed  Vesuvius  by  a wire  cable  and  have  crawled  up 
the  Rigi  by  the  famous  cog-railway,  but  this  was  my  first 
experience  in  shooting  a moraine  in  a gasoline  car.  I went 
as  the  guest  of  Mr.  B.  H.  Behrends,  the  banker  of  Juneau, 
a man  who,  as  they  say  down  South,  is  the  very  "spi’t 
an’  image”  of  James  Whitcomb  Riley,  and  in  good  fellow- 
ship quite  the  equal  of  the  Hoosier  poet. 

We  rode  from  Juneau  right  into  the  woods.  Trees 
from  fifty  to  one  hundred  feet  high  climbed  the  steep 
walls  about  us,  and  elderberry  bushes  with  trunks  as  big 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


around  as  my  arm  brushed  our  wheels  as  we  passed.  The 
sides  of  the  road  were  lined  with  ferns  of  a dozen  varie- 
ties and  wild  flowers  blue,  red,  and  yellow.  We  passed 
through  great  beds  of  crimson  fire-weed,  and  rode  through 
thousands  of  lupins  the  hue  of  the  sky.  There  were  also 
wild  carrots  with  their  lace-like  blossoms  of  white,  and 
fuzzy  yellow  devil-clubs.  In  some  places  the  grass  was 
as  high  as  my  waist  and  the  mountain  slopes  on  both 
sides  of  the  road  were  the  greenest  of  green.  The  vegeta- 
tion was  more  like  that  of  the  mountains  of  Java  than  I 
had  expected  to  find  in  Alaska. 

Our  way  was  over  the  path  of  the  glacier.  The  valley 
through  which  we  went  was  once  filled  with  its  ice,  but 
this  has  slowly  receded,  leaving  the  earth  covered  with 
cobbles  and  great  boulders  ground  smooth  and  round 
in  their  long  glacial  ride.  Nevertheless,  flowers  grow 
among  the  stones  and  their  red  and  blue  blossoms  dot 
the  landscape. 

As  we  came  nearer  the  glacier  the  size  of  the  boulders 
increased.  Some  of  them  weighed  many  tons.  They 
were  of  white  and  black  granite  with  here  and  there  some 
slate.  In  the  windings  of  the  valley  we  turned  to  the 
right  and  all  at  once  came  in  sight  of  the  glacier.  The 
mountains  on  each  side  are  as  high  as  the  crest  of  the 
Alleghanies  and  the  glacier  half  fills  the  valley  between. 
It  juts  out  in  a precipitous  ice  wall  which  runs  back  and 
gradually  rises  to  the  skyline  until  it  seems  to  fill  the 
whole  space  between  the  hills  and  to  merge  into  the  clouds. 

Coming  closer,  we  rode  almost  to  the  foot  of  the  glacier. 
There  we  left  the  car  and  climbed  over  the  rocks  of  the 
moraine  to  the  edge  of  the  glacial  stream  which  flows 
along  the  foot  of  the  ice  wall. 

92 


Where  Taku  Glacier  enters  the  sea  its  front  wall  is  two  hundred  feet 
high  and  over  a mile  wide.  Icebergs  are  continually  dropping  off  into  the 
ocean  and  a blast  from  a steamer  whistle  will  break  loose  great  fragments. 


Mendenhall  has  slowly  receded,  leaving  the  earth  covered  with  stones 
ground  smooth  by  its  movement.  Nevertheless,  flowers  grow  among  the 
stones  almost  up  to  the  edge  of  the  corrugated  wall  of  blue  and  white  ice. 


Out  of  the  mountains  guarding  the  coast  come  the  ice  rivers  that  make 
Alaska  the  greatest  glacial  region  in  the  world  which  is  readily  accessi- 
ble to  the  traveller.  Juneau  is  only  one  thousand  miles  from  Seattle. 


Think  of  going  to  a glacier  by  automobile!  Trees  from  fifty  to  a hun- 
dred feet  high  climb  the  steep  mountain  sides,  and  ferns  and  wild  flowers 
line  the  nine  miles  of  road  from  Juneau  to  Mendenhall. 


THE  WORLD’S  GREATEST  GLACIERS 


The  Mendenhall  Glacier,  where  it  bursts  forth  from  the 
mountain,  is  about  a mile  wide.  It  is  a huge  corrugated 
wall  of  blue  and  white  ice  sloping  upward  into  ice  moun- 
tains which,  in  the  distance,  seems  to  be  of  carved  marble. 
Its  face  is  ploughed  by  deep  furrows  and  pitted  with 
many  small  holes  which  the  guides  tell  the  credulous 
cheechako,  or  tenderfoot,  have  been  made  by  the  ice 
worms.  They  say  there  are  certain  worms  that  live  in 
the  ice  and  are  often  caught  and  eaten  by  the  starving 
miners.  Indeed,  they  prove  the  story  by  showing  a 
photograph  of  a miner  actually  chewing  the  worms  which 
he  is  sucking  from  the  ice.  The  man  is  real,  but  the 

5)rms”  are  strings  of  spaghetti. 

rom  the  Lynn  Canal  westward,  for  a distance  of  four 
or  five  hundred  miles,  are  to  be  found  the  greatest  glaciers 
of  Alaska.  General  Greely  catalogued  the  names  and 
locations  of  more  than  two  hundred  of  them  and  G.  K. 
Gilbert  of  the  Harriman  Expedition  says  the  ice  covers 
from  fifteen  thousand  to  twenty  thousand  square  miles. 
Most  of  these  glaciers  are  within  one  hundred  miles  of  the 
ocean,  the  largest  being  on  the  south  side  of  the  coast 
range.  There  are  eleven  wide  glaciers  on  Prince  William 
Sound  and  standing  on  the  street  corner  in  Seward  one 
(jan  see  glaciers  all  about  on  the  sides  of  the  mountains. 

Nearly  every  Alaskan  river  has  its  source  in  a glacier. 
The  tributaries  of  the  Yukon  and  Kuskokwim  are  fed 
by  ice  masses.  The  Tanana,  upon  which  the  town  of 
Fairbanks  is  located,  is  formed  by  the  Chisana  and 
Nabesna  rivers,  both  of  which  rise  in  glaciers  in  the 
Wrangell  Mountains,  and  the  Susitna  springs  forth  from 
a glacier  of  the  Alaskan  range.  The  Copper  River  is 
fed  by  glaciers  and  the  railway  which  goes  through  its 

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ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


valley,  connecting  the  Kennecott  Mines  with  the  sea, 
passes  between  the  Childs  Glacier  and  the  Miles  Glacier 
on  its  way  to  Cordova. 

Glacier  Bay,  only  a short  distance  from  the  end  of  the 
Lynn  Canal,  is  a body  of  water  fifty  miles  long  with  more 
than  half-a-dozen  glaciers  of  enormous  size  sloping  down 
to  it.  The  biggest  is  the  Muir  Glacier,  named  after 
John  Muir,  who  discovered  it.  It  is  three  miles  wide 
where  it  enters  the  water,  and  the  height  of  the  ice  wall 
is  almost  one  thousand  feet,  seven  hundred  feet  being  lost 
in  the  bay. 

The  Muir  Glacier  is  very  lively.  It  has  been  supposed 
by  some  to  move  as  much  as  sixty  feet  a day,  but  a fair 
estimate  would  be  about  one  sixth  of  that  speed.  Very 
few  of  the  well-known  glaciers  move  more  than  a foot  a 
day,  although  there  are  some  in  Alaska  that  move  from 
five  to  ten  feet.  There  is  one  in  northern  Greenland  that 
is  said  to  travel  over  four  feet  every  hour.  The  movement 
of  a glacier  may  be  measured  by  laying  stones  upon  it 
or  by  driving  posts  into  the  surface.  As  the  mass  slips 
onward  the  space  between  these  posts  and  fixed  points 
on  the  landscape  shows  how  fast  it  is  travelling. 

In  addition  to  the  valley  glaciers,  Alaska  has  great  ice 
fields  or  caps,  such  as  the  Malaspina  Glacier,  a sheet  of 
ice  larger  than  the  state  of  Rhode  Island.  It  has  a front 
of  about  fifty  miles  as  it  faces  the  sea  and  runs  thirty 
miles  inland  to  the  St.  Elias  range.  It  is  really  a vast 
plain,  or  plateau,  of  ice  with  lakes  and  rivers,  and  with 
hills  and  mountains  of  gravel.  It  is  the  biggest  ice  field 
on  the  North  American  continent  although  it  is  only  a 
patch  in  comparison  with  the  ice  caps  of  Greenland  and 
Antarctica.  The  Greenland  cap  has  an  area  of  over  four 

94 


THE  WORLD’S  GREATEST  GLACIERS 


hundred  thousand  square  miles,  being  two  thirds  as  big 
as  the  whole  of  Alaska.  The  ice  sheet  of  Antarctica  is 
supposed  to  cover  about  three  million  square  miles.  It  is 
as  big  as  the  United  States. 

Some  years  ago  the  Malaspina  Glacier  was  shaken  by 
an  earthquake  which  changed  its  whole  surface,  twisting 
the  bed-rock  and  uprooting  the  timber  for  miles  about. 
In  1912  a lake  in  one  of  the  crevasses  of  the  Miles  Glacier 
burst  through  the  walls  of  ice  and  hurled  blocks  weighing 
thousands  of  tons  down  into  the  river.  A wave  thirty 
feet  high  spread  over  the  flats,  and  icebergs  weighing 
many  tons  were  jammed  against  the  bridge  of  the  Copper 
River  Railroad. 


95 


CHAPTER  XII 


SKAGWAY,  THE  GATE  TO  THE  KLONDIKE 

IN  THE  days  of  the  Klondike  gold  rush  Skagway  here  at 
the  head  of  the  Lynn  Canal  was  one  of  the  most  talked- 
of  towns  in  the  world.  It  was  the  chief  gate  to  the  rich 
new  gold  fields,  and  miners  came  by  the  thousands  to 
tramp  their  way  over  the  passes  to  the  headwaters  of  the 
Yukon  and  thence  float  down  to  Dawson.  A little  later  it 
became  the  terminus  of  the  White  Pass  Railway,  which  was 
built  when  the  gold  fever  was  at  its  height,  and  runs  from 
here  to  White  Horse,  the  head  of  the  navigation  of  the 
Y ukon ; as  if  by  magic  it  sprang  from  a village  of  tents  to  a 
bustling  city  of  wood  and  stone  of  fifteen  thousand  popula- 
tion. Most  of  these  people  were  transients  moving  back 
and  forth  from  the  gold  mines.  Then  the  mines  began  to 
play  out,  and  the  blood  of  Skagway  grew  weak.  The 
cream  had  been  skimmed  from  the  Klondike  and  the 
bottle  was  empty.  The  miners  grew  fewer  and  fewer,  and 
the  city  dwindled  and  pined  until  it  now  has  all  told,  only 
five  or  six  hundred. 

The  saloons  and  dance  halls  have  all  disappeared.  The 
hotels  and  rooming  shacks  have  rotted  away  and  many 
of  the  better  class  houses  are  vacant.  The  town  has 
changed  from  a booming,  wide-open  community  of  gam- 
blers, fortune  hunters,  and  miners,  to  a staid  little  settle- 
ment living  on  the  travellers  who  pass  through  on  their 
way  to  Yukon  Territory  and  the  interior  of  Alaska,  and  on 

9 6 


SKAGWAY,  THE  GATE  TO  THE  KLONDIKE 


the  tourists  who  come  north  by  the  thousands  every  season 
to  view  the  glaciers  and  other  scenic  wonders. 

The  usual  “tour  of  Alaska”  is  confined  to  the  islands  of 
the  southeastern  part  and  ends  at  Skagway.  Many 
travellers  make  the  excursion  by  rail  to  the  top  of  the 
White  Pass  and  return  during  the  stay  of  their  steamer  in 
port.  So  far,  not  a great  many  have  gone  on  into  Canadian 
territory  to  Dawson,  while  those  who  make  the  long  trip 
down  the  Yukon  and  across  Norton  Sound  to  Nome,  as  I 
have  set  out  to  do,  are  fewer  still. 

Many  of  the  tourists,  who  mean  to  go  no  farther  than 
Skagway,  do  not  return  with  the  steamer  that  brought 
them,  but  stay  on  for  several  days  or  even  weeks.  The 
place  is  fast  becoming  a summer  resort.  It  has  a mild 
climate,  with  much  less  rain  than  other  parts  of  the  Pan- 
handle. In  addition,  Skagway  offers  no  end  of  excursions 
on  horseback,  on  foot,  or  by  motor  boat.  This  tourist 
travel  will  increase  as  soon  as  our  people  awake  to  the 
wonders  of  Alaska  and  know  they  can  be  warm  enough, 
comfortably  housed,  and  well  fed  while  they  enjoy  them. 

1 can  well  see  how  Skagway  got  its  title  of  the  “Flower 
City  of  Alaska.”  Flowers  are  everywhere.  One  of  the 
gardens  I visited  was  that  of  Mr.  F.  J.  Weber,  who  is  in 
charge  of  the  shops  of  the  White  Pass  Railway.  He  has 
more  than  forty  varieties  of  dahlias  of  every  colour  and 
tint.  Some  are  snow  white,  some  blood  red,  others  of  a 
delicate  salmon.  He  has  even  blue  dahlias  of  the  deep  hue 
of  the  mountains  far  off  in  the  distance. 

And  such  dahlias!  The  stems  of  some  of  the  plants 
reached  to  a height  of  nine  feet,  and  their  blossoms  were 
as  big  around  as  dinner  plates.  I took  my  two-foot  rule 
and  found  that  this  was  so  by  actual  measure.  One 

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ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


gorgeous  purple  blossom  was  nine  inches  across.  An- 
other, the  Geisha  dahlia,  with  blossoms  of  old  gold  and 
fiery  red,  measured  more  than  ten  inches  from  side  to  side. 
Indeed,  the  size  of  the  flowers  was  so  great  that  1 had 
myself  photographed  standing  at  the  roots  of  one  of  the 
plants  to  make  the  camera  testify  to  the  truth  of  my  story. 
The  stem  reached  so  high  above  me  that  I could  just 
touch  the  blossom,  and,  as  1 looked  up,  the  flower  seemed 
as  big  as  a pie  pan.  Nevertheless,  it  grew  from  a bulb 
planted  in  the  open  just  about  two  months  ago. 

Most  of  Mr.  Weber’s  dahlias  are  growing,  not  in  hot- 
houses, but  in  beds  in  a lawn,  and  their  only  protection  is 
a windshield,  a wire  fence  walled  with  glass  which  faces 
the  channel  to  keep  off  the  cold  blasts  from  the  sea  and 
the  mountains.  Among  the  other  flowers  I saw  in  this 
garden  were  marigolds  five  inches  wide  and  red  geraniums 
equally  large.  There  were  also  Japanese  gold-banded 
lilies  with  flowers  as  long  as  your  hand.  I counted  nine- 
teen such  lilies  on  a single  plant. 

Just  now  great  beds  of  white  clover  grow  on  the  sides 
of  the  streets,  and  the  hills  are  covered  with  bushes  and 
wild  flowers.  Many  of  the  residents  have  garden  patches 
where  they  grow  all  the  vegetables  used  by  the  town.  1 
saw  one  patch  of  raspberries  this  morning  which  had 
bushes  as  high  as  my  head  and  berries  as  thick  as  my 
thumb.  I saw  rhubarb  with  leaves  as  big  as  two  pages 
of  a newspaper  and  stems  that  reached  to  my  shoulders. 

1 am  staying  at  the  Pullen  House,  a place  which,  it  is 
said,  has  entertained  more  distinguished  guests  than  any 
other  hotel  in  Alaska.  It  is  run  by  Mrs.  Harriet  Pullen, 
who  came  to  Skagway  in  the  days  of  the  gold  fever,  land- 
ing on  the  beach  with  four  children  and  seven  dollars. 

98 


SKAGWAY,  THE  GATE  TO  THE  KLONDIKE 


Now  she  has  this  modern  hotel  of  twenty  rooms  with 
many  baths  and  several  acres  of  grounds.  Around  the 
main  building  are  bungalows  which  may  be  rented  by 
families  or  parties  of  friends.  The  lawn  is  planted  with 
trees  and  flowers.  In  the  middle  of  the  mountain  stream 
flowing  through  it  is  a little  island  and  there  are  rustic 
bridges  here  and  there,  giving  a pleasing  Japanese  effect. 

This  morning  when  I came  down  to  breakfast  I found 
beside  my  plate  a blue-enamelled  pan  full  of  rich  milk 
from  which  I skimmed  the  cream  for  my  coffee  and  cereal. 
This  is  one  of  the  special  features  of  the  Pullen  House. 
Mrs.  Pullen  gets  her  fruit,  vegetables,  and  dairy  products 
from  her  three-hundred-and-twenty-acre  farm,  which 
covers  the  site  of  the  old  town  of  Dyea.  She  tells  me  she 
has  forty  acres  in  oats,  which  she  is  raising  for  grain-hay, 
and  that  she  has  already  put  her  rye-hay  crop  in  the  barn. 
The  barn,  by  the  way,  is  one  of  the  deserted  houses  built 
during  the  mining  boom,  when  Dyea  had  something  like 
ten  thousand  people.  Other  of  the  houses  have  been 
torn  away  to  make  room  for  the  crops,  and  practically 
nothing  of  the  once-thriving  mining  centre  is  now  to  be 
seen. 

When  gold  was  first  discovered  in  the  Klondike  there 
were  two  roads,  or  trails,  from  the  head  of  the  Lynn  Canal 
over  the  mountains.  One  started  here  at  Skagway  and 
climbed  up  through  the  White  Pass  to  Lake  Bennett, 
then  went  on  down  the  Yukon  to  Dawson.  The  other 
began  at  Dyea,  four  miles  away,  and  went  over  the  Chil- 
koot  Pass  to  the  Yukon.  At  first  Dyea  had  the  lead 
over  Skagway.  It  built  an  aerial  tramway,  running  on 
a cable,  that  carried  freight  up  the  pass,  although  the 
passengers  had  to  walk,  or,  as  they  say  here,  “mush  it’' 

99 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


up  the  sheer  thirty-five  hundred  feet  of  Chilkoot  Pass. 
As  the  cars  rose  into  the  air,  upheld  by  the  wire  rope,  they 
swung  this  way  and  that,  and  now  and  then  some  of  the 
freight  was  spilled  out.  Once  a car  carried  ninety-four 
hogs.  The  motion  made  them  dizzy  and  seasick  and  half 
of  them  jumped  out  and  were  crushed  on  the  rocks  far 
below. 

The  building  of  the  White  Pass  Railway  sounded  the 
death  knell  of  Dyea.  The  inhabitants  rushed  to  Skagway, 
where  the  new  road  began.  Many  of  them  left  their 
houses  without  trying  to  sell  them,  and  some  abandoned 
their  furniture.  One  family  departed,  leaving  a table 
half  set  for  dinner.  All  were  crazy  to  get  to  the  gold 
mines  or  to  share  in  the  prosperity  which  it  was  thought 
Skagway  would  have.  After  a short  while  all  had  left 
with  the  exception  of  a man  named  Emil  Klatt,  who  took 
up  a homestead  on  the  site  of  the  abandoned  city,  ploughed 
the  streets,  and  laid  out  his  fields  among  the  town  lots. 
He  farmed  there  for  years  and  became  generally  known  as 
the  Mayor  of  Dyea,  although  his  only  constituents  were 
cattle  and  sheep.  I do  not  think  he  made  any  money. 
At  all  events,  he  finally  sold  the  property,  which  now  be- 
longs, as  I have  said,  to  Mrs.  Pullen. 

It  is  interesting  to  hear  the  Skagwayans  tell  of  the  days 
when  their  town  was  at  the  height  of  its  drunken  pros- 
perity. It  was,  to  use  a slang  phrase,  "wide-open,” 
having  sixty-one  saloons,  each  with  its  dance  hall  adjoin- 
ing. There  were  neither  courts  nor  police.  At  that  time 
there  was  no  law  in  Alaska  under  which  a municipal  gov- 
ernment could  be  organized  and  the  only  representative 
of  Uncle  Sam  was  a deputy  marshal.  He  was  a rough 
character  and  was  supposed  to  be  in  league  with  the 


100 


Skagway  is  named  from  “Skag-waugh,”  the  Indian  word  for  “cruel 
wind.”  The  natives  feared  the  icy  blasts  that  blew  down  the  canyon  from 
the  White  Pass.  It  was  the  chief  gateway  to  the  Klondike  goldfields. 


The  Fourth  of  July,  with  its  eighteen  hours  of  sunlight,  is  a big  day  all 
over  Alaska.  One  of  the  events  at  Skagway  is  a tug-of-war  between 
members  of  two  rival  Indian  tribes. 


Skagway  deserves  its  name  of  the  “Flower  City  of  Alaska.”  It  is  no 
unusual  thing  to  find  dahlias  as  big  as  dinner  plates  blooming  on  stalks 
nine  feet  high.  Other  flowers  grow  with  equal  luxuriance,  and  even  the 
rudest  houses  are  surrounded  in  summer  by  brilliantly  coloured  blossoms. 


SKAGWAY,  THE  GATE  TO  THE  KLONDIKE 

criminal  element.  At  least  he  did  nothing  to  control  it, 
and  bands  of  thugs  held  up  the  cheechako  and  even  robbed 
the  old  miners  as  they  came  from  the  Klondike. 

A little  later  the  criminal  element  was  combined  by  one 
Randolph  Jefferson  Smith,  who  has  a traditional  fame 
here  something  like  that  of  Slade  of  Mark  Twain’s 
“Roughing  It.”  Smith  got  the  nickname  of  Soapy  in 
Colorado  because  he  peddled  soap  which  to  the  purchaser 
seemed  to  be  wrapped  in  ten-  and  twenty-dollar  bills.  The 
game  is  a swindle  well  known  throughout  the  West. 

Arriving  in  Skagway  about  the  time  the  United  States 
declared  war  on  Spain,  Soapy  got  together  four  hundred 
of  the  vicious  element  of  the  place  and  offered  them  to 
President  McKinley  as  a band  of  rough  riders,  ready  to 
fight  the  Spaniards.  The  President,  who  had  been 
posted  as  to  their  character,  declined  their  services. 
Soapy  then  armed  and  drilled  them  and  used  them  to 
prey  upon  the  community.  They  robbed  strangers 
singly  and  in  crowds.  They  committed  a number  of 
murders  and  it  was  almost  sure  death  to  oppose  them. 
The  people  were  intimidated  and  there  began  a reign  of 
terror  that  lasted  for  months.  The  gang  had  all  sorts  of 
ways  of  fleecing  the  miners  who  passed  through  on  their 
way  to  the  Klondike,  as  well  as  getting  the  gold  of  those 
who  came  back. 

The  advance  agents  of  Soapy’s  gang  would  go  to  Seattle 
and  come  back  with  the  crowd  on  the  steamer.  The 
passengers  were  mostly  gold-seekers,  each  of  whom  had 
an  outfit  that  had  cost  about  five  hundred  dollars,  besides 
enough  money  to  get  him  to  Dawson.  Some  had  more, 
some  less.  Soapy’s  agents,  who  pretended  to  be  miners, 
would  organize  companies  with  a view  to  getting  cheap 


101 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


freight  and  would  take  from  each  member  of  the  com- 
pany an  order  to  the  ship  to  release  his  goods  to  the 
packers,  or  men  who  carried  the  goods  over  the  trail. 
Upon  landing  the  men  would  run  the  miners  into  Soapy’s 
gambling  saloon,  where,  within  an  hour,  they  were  sure 
to  lose  all  their  money  at  cards.  They  then  had  not 
enough  to  pay  their  freight  bills  and  as  a result  their  out- 
fits would  fall  into  the  hands  of  the  gang.  Captain  Baugh- 
man of  the  S.  S.  Humboldt  told  me  that  it  would  take  only 
about  forty  or  fifty  minutes  after  the  ship  came  to  anchor 
for  the  prospectors  to  land  and  lose  all  their  money,  and 
come  back  weeping  and  begging  for  a steerage  passage 
home. 

As  time  went  on  the  robbers  grew  bolder  and  matters 
became  worse  and  worse.  Miners  coming  out  from 
Dawson  had  their  bags  of  gold  stolen  from  them,  and  it 
finally  became  unsafe  for  any  stranger  in  Skagway. 
Stories  of  the  outrages  went  to  the  outside  and  hurt  the 
town.  The  climax  was  capped  by  the  robbing  of  a young 
miner  named  Stewart,  who  had  just  come  from  Dawson 
with  a poke  containing  twenty-seven  hundred  dollars  in 
gold  dust.  The  man  made  a fuss,  and  prominent  busi- 
ness men  went  to  Soapy  and  asked  him  to  give  back  the 
money.  When  he  refused,  a vigilance  committee  was 
formed.  Soapy  threatened  to  shoot  upon  sight  any  man 
that  dared  to  attack  him,  and  when  four  attempted  to 
make  an  arrest  he  put  his  cocked  rifle  against  the  stomach 
of  their  leader,  Frank  Reid.  Reid  grabbed  the  gun  and 
drew  his  revolver,  but  Smith  pulled  the  trigger  and  the 
ball  passed  through  Reid’s  body.  At  the  same  time  Reid 
fired  two  or  three  shots  in  rapid  succession,  and  one  of  his 
bullets  pierced  Soapy  Smith’s  heart,  while  another 

102 


SKAGWAY,  THE  GATE  TO  THE  KLONDIKE 

wounded  him  in  the  leg.  Before  falling,  Smith  fired  a 
second  shot,  striking  Reid  in  the  leg.  Then  both  men  fell, 
Soapy  Smith  stone  dead  and  Frank  Reid  mortally 
wounded. 

News  of  Smith’s  death  sent  his  gang  scurrying  for  the 
hills  like  jack  rabbits.  In  their  panic  not  one  of  his  men 
thought  of  him  and  his  body  lay  on  the  spot  where  it  had 
fallen  until  two  o’clock  in  the  morning,  when  some  women 
took  it  away. 

I asked  Captain  Baughman,  who  knew  Soapy  Smith, 
what  became  of  his  money.  The  Captain  replied: 

“He  spent  it  as  fast  as  it  came,  and  when  he  was  killed 
he  had  nothing  to  speak  of  except  about  six  hundred 
dollars  of  the  gold  dust  he  had  taken  from  Stewart.  This 
was  found  in  a poke  in  his  trunk.  Soapy  gave  a good  deal 
to  the  men  who  were  with  him.  I n fact,  he  was  one  of  the 
most  open-handed  men  that  ever  came  to  Alaska.  He 
paid  the  expenses  of  many  who  went  broke  and  helped 
them  out  of  the  country.  If  a man  died,  Soapy  was  al- 
ways ready  to  spend  several  hundred  dollars  on  groceries 
for  his  widow  and  children.  He  was  free  also  in  his  gifts 
of  money,  while  his  orders  for  provisions  to  be  sent  to 
the  poor  were  so  generous  that  his  trade  was  worth  hun- 
dreds of  dollars  a week  to  several  of  the  Skagway  stores. 
This  was  one  reason  why  some  of  the  citizens  said  nothing 
against  him. 

“A  few  days  before  his  death  he  was  actually  mar- 
shal of  the  Fourth  of  July.  Even  preachers  some- 
times asked  his  aid.  They  tell  a story  here  of  a young 
cheechako  ‘sky  pilot’  who  once  got  Soapy  to  help  him 
get  contributions  for  some  church  work.  Smith  turned 
in  with  a will  on  the  understanding  that  the  minister 

103 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


should  handle  all  the  cash.  When  the  sum  seemed  satis- 
factory to  the  outlaw,  he  sent  one  of  his  gang  to  steal  it 
from  the  confiding  divine.  Another  reason  why  his 
career  was  not  interrupted  sooner  was  the  fact  that 
Soapy’s  enemies  had  a strange  way  of  disappearing  and 
being  nevermore  heard  from.” 

The  Skagway  of  to-day  is  an  orderly  community  with 
good  schools,  waterworks  and  sewers,  electric  lights  and 
telephones,  a daily  newspaper  and  several  churches.  The 
chief  business  of  the  town  seems  to  be  the  selling  of  curios 
to  the  tourists.  There  are  a half-dozen  stores  that  sell 
jewellery,  carvings,  moccasins,  and  baskets.  The  jewellery 
is  made  by  the  Indians,  who  pound  it  out  of  silver  dollars. 
The  carvings  are  of  walrus  tusks  cut  by  the  Eskimos,  and 
the  moccasins  and  baskets  are  manufactured  by  the  na- 
tives about  Skagway  and  in  other  parts  of  Alaska.  None 
of  these  things  is  cheap.  The  best  baskets,  little  ones 
that  will  not  hold  more  than  a quart,  bring  from  fifty  to 
one  hundred  dollars,  while  cigarette  cases  of  the  same 
character  sell  for  fifteen  dollars  apiece.  No  basket  of 
fine  workmanship  can  be  bought  for  less  than  eight  or 
ten  dollars.  The  best  are  made  under  water.  They  are 
of  straw  woven  finer  than  the  finest  Panama  hat,  and  so 
delicate  and  intricate  that  it  takes  several  months  to  make 
a basket  as  big  as  the  head  of  a baby.  The  best  ones 
come  from  the  Aleutian  Islands.  They  are  woven  by  the 
older  of  the  Indian  women,  for  the  art  is  dying  out  and 
will  probably  pass  away  with  this  generation. 

Most  of  the  carvings  come  from  the  Nome  Eskimos  and 
the  Indian  settlements  about  the  mouth  of  the  Yukon,  al- 
though some  very  good  carvings  are  done  by  the  Indians 
about  Skagway  and  Sitka.  The  Indians  make  their  own 

104 


Skagway’s  eloquent  query  as  to  the  whereabouts  of  “Soapy”  Smith  in 
the  hereafter  was  painted  on  a mountain  boulder  above  the  town.  The 
rock  later  rolled  down  the  steep  slope,  landing  near  the  spot  where  the 
famous  “bad  man”  was  killed. 


Mrs.  Pullen  landed  at  Skagway  in  the  Klondike  gold  rush,  a widow  with 
three  children  and  seven  dollars.  More  distinguished  men  have  been 
entertained  at  Pullen  House  than  at  any  other  hotel  in  all  Alaska. 


SKAGWAY,  THE  GATE  TO  THE  KLONDIKE 


carving  tools,  grinding  them  out  of  old  razor  blades.  In 
working  they  pull  the  instrument  toward  them,  digging 
out  the  ivory  after  the  style  of  the  Japanese.  This  is 
just  opposite  to  the  way  our  carvers  work. 

The  commercial  photographer  also  reaps  a rich  harvest 
in  Alaska  with  its  wonderful  scenery  and  its  picturesque 
natives.  I know  of  one  photograph  that  has  netted  its 
owner  five  hundred  dollars,  and  there  are  many  steady 
sellers  which  bring  in  a good  income  every  season. 


fo^ 


CHAPTER  XIII 


OVER  THE  GOLD-SEEKERS’  TRAIL 

I HAVE  just  taken  a trip  over  the  first  railway  line  ever 
built  in  Alaska.  This  is  the  “White  Pass,”  which 
runs  from  Skagway  over  the  coast  range  to  White 
Horse,  at  the  headwaters  of  the  Yukon.  The  road 
was  built  at  the  height  of  the  Klondike  stampede  to  carry 
passengers  over  the  mountains  to  where  they  could  get 
ship  for  Dawson.  The  work  was  begun  in  1898  and 
finished  less  than  two  years  later  when  the  first  passenger 
train,  a string  of  flat  cars,  brought  out  gold  dust  worth 
two  million  dollars. 

The  White  Pass  Railway  is  only  one  hundred  and  eleven 
miles  long  and,  although  not  as  expensive  as  the  Capper 
River  road  of  the  Guggenheims,  it  cost  millions  to  build. 
The  first  twenty  miles  cost  on  the  average  more  than  one 
hundred  thousand  dollars  per  mile,  and  there  are  sections 
which  cost  half  as  much  more.  During  the  construction 
three  thousand  five  hundred  men  were  employed,  less 
than  thirty  of  whom  died  or  were  killed  on  the  job.  The 
work  went  on  right  through  the  winter,  and  within  eight- 
een months  after  the  first  pick  was  raised  the  trains  were 
carrying  thousands  of  passengers  and  millions  of  dollars’ 
worth  of  freight  down  to  the  sea  coast. 

Beginning  at  Skagway  at  the  head  of  the  Lynn  Canal, 
the  White  Pass  Railway  runs  through  the  rocks  along  the 

106 


OVER  THE  GOLD-SEEKERS’  TRAIL 

winding  valley  of  the  Skagway  River  and  up  the  steep 
slope  of  the  coast  mountains.  Here  and  there  the  track 
hangs  to  the  sides  of  cliffs  so  steep  that  the  workmen  had 
to  be  lowered  in  slings  from  above  to  drill  and  blast  out 
the  ledges  for  the  road-bed. 

After  reaching  the  top  of  the  pass  the  track  runs  for 
twenty-seven  miles  along  the  winding  shores  of  Lake 
Bennett,  crosses  a canyon  two  hundred  and  fifteen  feet 
deep  upon  a great  bridge  of  steel,  skirts  the  White  Horse 
Rapids,  famous  in  the  days  of  the  Klondike,  and  finally 
ends  at  White  Horse,  three  hundred  and  fifty  miles  from 
Dawson  by  the  overland  trail  and  over  one  hundred  miles 
more  by  the  river.  The  bridge  over  the  canyon  is  the 
farthest  north  cantilever  bridge  in  the  world. 

The  road  was  well  planned  and  well  built,  and  has  been 
well  managed  from  the  start.  Notwithstanding  the 
heavy  snowfalls,  it  has  most  of  the  time  been  kept  open 
throughout  the  winter.  It  has  rotary  snow  ploughs  which 
will  cut  a path  twelve  feet  deep  through  the  drifts. 

There  were  few  accidents  during  the  construction 
work.  At  one  place  an  engine  jumped  over  the  cliffs,  but 
the  men  raised  it  with  block  and  tackle.  At  another  place, 
now  marked  by  an  iron  cross  perhaps  two  feet  high,  a rock 
weighing  more  than  one  hundred  tons  fell  from  the  side 
of  the  mountain  and  crushed  two  men  who  were 
blasting  the  way  for  the  track.  The  rock  was  so  heavy 
that  it  could  not  be  moved,  and  the  monument  was  sunk 
in  its  centre. 

The  endurance  of  the  workmen  was  almost  incredible. 
At  one  of  the  construction  camps  at  the  top  of  the  pass 
the  festoons  of  ice  that  formed  in  the  dining-tent  in 
winter  from  the  steam  of  the  cooking  had  to  be  swept 

107 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


down  before  each  meal.  But  the  icicles  would  form  again 
before  the  meal  was  over.  Everyone  ate  muffled  up  in 
coat,  hat,  and  gloves. 

Enormous  quantities  of  supplies  were  needed  and  the 
base  was  a thousand  miles  away.  Not  only  must  they 
be  brought  to  Skagway  by  steamer  from  Vancouver  or 
Seattle,  but  after  they  arrived  they  had  to  be  packed  up 
the  steep  trail  to  where  the  building  was  going  for- 
ward. Many  of  the  workers  were  gold  seekers  glad  of 
the  chance  to  make  expenses  while  they  waited  for  the 
spring  to  open  up  the  way  into  the  interior.  They  were 
high-class  labour  but  not  always  dependable.  When 
news  came  of  the  gold  strike  at  Atlin,  some  twenty-five 
miles  east  of  the  White  Pass,  fifteen  hundred  of  them 
dropped  their  picks  and  started  helter-skelter  for  the  new 
fields. 

The  man  who  built  the  White  Pass  road  was  Michael 
J.  Heney,  who  afterward  constructed  the  Copper  River 
railway  for  the  Guggenheim  syndicate.  Heney  was  an 
expert  engineer,  had  an  iron  nerve,  and  was  a master  in 
handling  men.  He  would  not  allow  liquor  or  gambling 
inside  his  camp.  At  one  time  a desperado  belonging  to 
Soapy  Smith’s  gang  set  up  a gambling  saloon  in  a tent 
close  to  the  route.  When  Heney  ordered  him  to  go  away 
he  refused.  Heney  then  turned  to  his  camp  foreman  and, 
pointing  to  a rock  half  as  big  as  a house  tnat  hung  over 
the  tent  of  the  saloonkeeper,  told  him  in  the  hearing  of  the 
gambler  to  blast  that  rock  out  of  the  way  by  five  o’clock 
the  next  morning.  The  gambler,  thinking  that  this  was 
only  a bluff  to  make  him  move,  did  nothing  about  it.  At 
five  minutes  to  five  o’clock  the  next  morning  the  foreman 
came  and  told  him  that  he  must  get  up  and  leave  or  he 

108 


The  prospectors,  having  found  a promising  site,  are  “staking”  out  their 
mining  claim  by  squaring  and  marking  the  stump  of  a tree,  according  to 
the  Alaska  mining  law. 


The  Indians  of  the  interior  are  Athapascans,  tall,  strong  people,  some 
of  whom  have  Russian  blood.  With  education  they  are  proving  them- 
selves intelligent,  reliable,  and  useful. 


OVER  THE  GOLD-SEEKERS’  TRAIL 


would  be  killed  by  the  rock.  The  gambler  replied  that 
the  foreman  might  go  to  Hades,  wherepon  the  latter 
said: 

“ I am  too  busy  to  go  there  this  morning,  but  if  you  are 
not  out  of  this  tent  within  two  minutes  by  this  watch  you 
will  find  yourself  there.  I shall  order  my  men  to  touch 
off  the  time  fuse  within  sixty  seconds.  The  fuse  will  burn 
one  minute  only,  and  at  the  end  of  that  time  the  rock 
will  fall  and  crush  you  to  death  in  this  tent.” 

Then  the  foreman  ordered  “fire”  and  sought  the 
shelter  of  a rock.  Ten  seconds  later  the  gambler  rushed 
after  him  with  his  shirt  flapping  against  his  bare  legs. 
He  continued  to  go,  and  when  last  seen  was  on  a dead  run 
down  the  trail. 

But  come  with  me  for  a ride  over  this  first  railroad  of 
Alaska.  The  cars  are  comfortable  and  we  shall  have 
moving  pictures  of  magnificent  scenery  all  the  way  up 
the  mountains.  We  shoot  out  of  Skagway  into  a canyon 
through  which  flows  a rushing  glacial  river.  We  follow 
this  for  a mile  before  climbing  the  hills,  and  pass  on  the 
way  some  log  cabins  which  the  old-timers  tell  us  belonged 
to  a town  nicknamed  Liarsville,  because  no  one  who  lived 
there  could  tell  the  truth.  A little  beyond  we  can  see 
where  the  river  breaks  through,  and  farther  up  the  moun- 
tains we  find  it  tumbling  down  over  the  rocks,  splashing 
like  the  Falls  of  Lodore. 

Great  beds  of  red  flowers  line  the  track  all  the  way  to 
the  top  of  the  pass.  There  are  trees  on  the  lowland  and 
everything  is  green.  Passing  onward,  the  engine  toils  up 
the  steep  sides  of  the  cliffs,  winding  about  in  horseshoe 
curves  until  it  reaches  the  top  twenty-nine  hundred  feet 
up  from  the  sea.  The  White  Pass  makes  this  great  climb 

109 


ALASKA — OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


within  twenty  miles  and  has  only  one  tunnel  along  its 
whole  route. 

As  we  go  up  the  mountains  the  climate  rapidly  changes. 
Now  and  then  we  get  a breeze  from  a glacier,  and  Jack 
Frost,  travelling  on  the  wings  of  the  wind  over  the 
perpetual  ice,  chills  us  to  the  marrow.  This  is  per- 
ceptible as  we  cross  the  canyon  and  catch  the  cold  air 
of  the  Muir  Glacier  not  far  away.  We  see  one  glacier 
with  a silver  thread  falling  down  the  green  slope  below  it. 
A little  lower  the  thread  swells  to  a rope.  Lower  still  it 
has  become  a great  cable,  and  it  ends  in  the  foaming  Skag- 
way  River,  dashing  down  over  the  rocks  to  the  sea. 

Passing  over  the  mountains  of  the  coastal  range,  we 
come  into  a new  and  different  country.  Skagway  is  as 
moist  as  Puget  Sound,  while  White  Horse  in  Yukon  Terri- 
tory is  as  dry  as  Denver.  In  Southeastern  Alaska  it 
rains  almost  every  day,  and  the  soil  is  like  a wet  sponge. 
Once  over  the  pass  we  are  in  a region  which  is  as  dry  as  a 
bone  and  in  midsummer  as  hot  as  the  Sahara.  It  suffers 
from  many  forest  fires. 

There  is  plenty  of  soil  on  the  northern  slope  of  the 
range,  and  at  first  sight  the  country  would  seem  excellent 
for  farming.  I am  told  that  it  is  not.  The  soil  is  sand 
on  a bed  of  gravel  and  the  rain  sinks  through  and  is  lost. 
Farther  north  the  soil  changes,  but  the  air  grows  dryer, 
and  the  climate  is  like  that  of  our  Rocky  Mountain 
Plateau. 

All  the  way  up  the  mountains  runs  the  trail  the  gold 
hunters  climbed  before  the  iron  track  was  constructed. 
They  made  their  way  through  the  ice  and  snow,  and  many 
died,  never  reaching  the  top  of  the  pass.  One  part 
of  the  trail,  known  as  the  Dead  Horse  Canyon,  was  so 

i io 


OVER  THE  GOLD-SEEKERS’  TRAIL 


named  for  the  horses  that,  unable  to  bear  the  toil  of  the 
journey,  gave  up  their  equine  ghosts  at  that  point.  The 
year  before  the  road  was  built  more  than  five  thousand 
dead  horses  were  counted  on  the  trail.  Some  had  lost 
their  footing  and  were  dashed  to  death  on  the  rocks  below. 
Others  had  sunk  under  their  burdens  in  utter  exhaustion 
and  had  to  be  thrown  over  the  rocks,  while  still  others 
lost  heart  and  actually  committed  suicide  by  throwing 
themselves  over  the  cliffs.  One  miner  driving  a mule 
team  got  the  animals  at  last  to  the  top,  when  the  leader, 
who  had  been  twice  over  the  trail,  jumped  over  the  preci- 
pice, dragging  the  others  with  him. 

Not  far  from  Dead  Horse  Canyon  are  traces  of  the  old 
road  built  by  George  A.  Brackett  before  the  steam  line 
was  constructed.  Brackett  came  from  Minneapolis  to 
Skagway  and  built  a road  up  the  mountains.  He  had 
tollgates  here  and  there,  and  the  charges  ranged  from 
fifty  cents  each  for  foot  passengers  to  two  dollars  for  a 
four-horse  team.  It  is  said  that  when  the  White  Pass 
Railway  put  him  out  of  business,  he  sold  his  route  for  forty 
thousand  dollars,  cash. 

During  the  winter  of  1 897-98,  thirty-three  thousand  men 
and  women  came  up  over  the  trails  on  their  way  to  Daw- 
son. Most  of  them  carried  packs  on  their  backs,  some 
making  numerous  trips  with  loads  of  from  fifty  to  one 
hundred  pounds  at  a time.  Some  had  sleds,  which 
they  pulled  up  the  mountains,  carrying  perhaps  two 
hundred  pounds  on  a sled.  The  average  outfit  of  the 
Klondiker  weighed  about  one  ton,  or  two  thousand 
pounds,  and  the  cost  of  getting  this  over  the  trail  was 
enormous.  Mules  and  horses  were  used,  and  Indians 
were  hired  at  the  rate  of  seven  cents  and  upward  a pound 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


for  taking  an  outfit  fifty  miles.  The  natives  worked  in 
families.  A man  would  pack  from  one  hundred  to  one 
hundred  and  forty  pounds,  a squaw  from  eighty  to  one 
hundred  pounds,  and  girls  and  boys  from  twenty-five  to 
fifty  pounds  apiece.  Some  of  the  white  men  went  into 
packing  and  teaming  as  a business.  One  man  is  said  to 
have  made  three  hundred  thousand  dollars  by  trans- 
porting the  baggage  and  supplies  of  the  gold-seekers. 
Another  threw  a log  across  a stream  and  charged  fifty 
cents,  toll  for  the  use  of  his  bridge. 

During  my  trip  over  the  White  Pass  route  I had  as  a 
seat-mate  Elmer  J.  White,  long  our  American  consul  at 
White  Horse.  His  stories  of  the  queer  sights  of  the  trail 
are  interesting.  Said  he: 

“The  men  carried  goods  of  every  description.  I re- 
member one  prospector  who  packed  a grindstone  up  the 
hills  on  his  back.  Everyone  wondered  what  under  the 
sun  he  was  going  to  do  with  it.  He  brought  it  to  White 
Horse  and  finally  to  Dawson.  There  he  had  a carpenter 
make  him  a frame  for  the  stone.  When  this  was  com- 
pleted he  let  the  miners  sharpen  their  axes  and  picks  at 
twenty-five  cents  apiece.  They  did  the  work  while  he 
sat  back  and  took  in  a dollar  or  more  an  hour  for  the  rent 
of  the  grindstone. 

“Another  man  was  loaded  with  seven-by-nine-inch  glass 
window  panes.  When  he  got  to  Dawson  he  sold  them  for 
two  dollars  a pane.  Glass  was  so  scarce  at  that  time  that 
beer  bottles  brought  a price  as  window  panes  for  log  cabins. 
They  were  piled  up  lengthwise  or  set  endwise  into  the 
windows  and  chinked  round  with  mud.” 

The  town  of  White  Pass  in  those  days  consisted  of 
thousands  of  tents  occupied  by  men  and  women  waiting 


1 12 


OVER  THE  GOLD-SEEKERS’  TRAIL 


for  rafts  and  boats  to  carry  them  down  by  the  lakes  and 
river  to  Dawson.  In  the  spring  of  1898  there  were  twenty 
thousand  persons  camped  at  the  head  of  Lake  Bennett 
awaiting  the  ice  break,  and  on  the  shores  of  the  lake  you 
can  still  see  the  remains  of  Mike  King’s  sawmill,  which 
cut  lumber  at  the  rate  of  eighty  dollars  per  thousand  and 
upward  for  the  making  of  boats  to  cross  the  lake. 

“All  of  these  settlements,”  said  Mr.  White,  “had  their 
saloons  and  dance  halls  and  games  of  chance  of  one  kind 
or  another.  The  men,  who  were  crazy  for  amusement,  did 
all  sorts  of  strange  things.  I remember  one  night  coming 
into  a saloon  at  White  Pass  where  a dozen  miners  stood 
around  the  bar  gambling  for  drinks.  Their  goddess  of 
fortune  was  the  wee  insect  that  Bobby  Burns  immortal- 
ized in  one  of  his  poems  when  he  saw  it  creeping  on  a 
young  lady’s  bonnet.  As  this  kind  of  “wee  beastie”  was 
very  common  in  those  days,  the  miners  had  no  trouble  in 
finding  one  for  their  sport.  The  louse  was  placed  on  the 
bar  and  the  gamblers  laid  their  right  hands  about  it  at 
equal  distances  away.  Then  they  waited  to  see  upon 
whose  hand  it  would  crawl  first.  That  unfortunate  man 
paid  for  the  drinks.” 

As  the  crow  flies,  the  distance  from  Skagway  to  the  sum- 
mit of  the  White  Pass  is  only  fourteen  miles,  but  the  rail- 
road track  is  six  miles  longer  on  account  of  the  grades. 
Our  train  stopped  at  Carcross  on  the  crest  of  the  pass, 
where  the  waters  flowing  into  the  two  oceans  divide,  and 
where  side  by  side  float  the  flags  of  America  and  Canada. 
Here,  within  a few  feet  of  each  other,  are  two  streams. 
One  flows  toward  the  west,  through  United  States  terri- 
tory, and  after  a course  of  twenty-odd  miles  tumbles  into 
the  Pacific  at  Skagway.  The  other  winds  its  way  on 

03 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


down  into  the  Yukon  and  has  over  two  thousand  miles  to 
go  before  it  reaches  Bering  Sea.  I threw  a couple  of  chips 
into  the  streams.  One  has  long  since  been  lost  in  the 
Pacific  Ocean,  and  I am  in  hopes  that  the  other  will  in 
time  reach  the  same  body  of  water  not  far  from  the  Arctic. 


CHAPTER  XIV 


IN  THE  YUKON  FLATS 

I AM  right  under  the  Arctic  Circle  at  Fort  Yukon.  For 
days  past  I have  been  steaming  slowly  down  the 
Yukon  River  through  the  wilds  of  Alaska.  This 
mighty  stream  rises  only  twenty-five  miles  from  the 
Pacific  Ocean  in  the  headwaters  of  the  Lewes  and  the 
Pelly  rivers.  It  flows  far  into  the  interior  of  Canada’s 
Yukon  Territory,  then  bends  toward  the  Bering  Sea,  where 
it  ends  its  two-thousand-mile  course.  The  Yukon  is  one 
of  the  world’s  largest  rivers. 

American  continent — the  Mis 
nipeg-Nelson,  the  Mackenzie,  and  the  St.  Lawrence — - 
surpass  it  in  length  and  the  area  of  the  basin  drained. 

Here  in  what  are  called  the  Yukon  flats  the  stream  is 
from  ten  to  twenty  miles  wide,  and  the  channel  winds  slug- 
gishly in  and  out  among  islands  of  all  shapes  and  sizes. 
Some  are  circular,  some  oval,  and  some  are  perfect  cres- 
cents of  vegetation  and  sand.  The  waters  are  like  glass, 
putty-coloured  during  the  daytime  and  with  all  the  hues 
of  the  rainbow  when  the  sun  rises  or  sets.  Just  now  it  is 
about  midnight  and  the  river  is  one  sheet  of  molten  gold, 
or  the  hue  of  flowing  copper  as  the  metal  pours  forth  from 
the  furnace. 

At  White  Horse,  the  northern  terminus  of  the  White 
Pass  Railway,  I took  the  steamer  which  brought  me  on 
through  the  Canadian  Yukon  Territory  and  past  Dawson. 

1 1 5 


Only  four,  on  the  North 
ssippi-Missouri,  the  Win- 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


About  nine  hours  after  leaving  Dawson  I crossed  the  inter- 
national boundary  and  was  once  more  on  United  States 
soil,  which  1 had  left  at  Carcross  on  the  railroad. 

The  course  of  the  Y ukon  from  White  Horse  to  Dawson  is 
as  picturesque  as  any  part  of  the  Rhine  or  the  Danube, 
and  the  whole  of  the  journey  has  all  of  the  wildness  and 
charm  of  a virgin  country. 

In  coming  down  the  Upper  Yukon  We  steamed  by 
mountains  rising  to  the  clouds,  passed  by  rocks  like  lofty 
castles,  and  wound  our  way  among  hills  blanketed  with 
pink  flowers  recalling  the  heather-clad  hills  of  old  Scot- 
land. Just  inside  the  Canadian  boundary  1 saw  two 
rocks  facing  each  other  on  opposite  sides  of  the  river. 
One  bore  the  almost  perfect  face  of  a man,  whereas  the 
profile  of  the  other  was  that  of  a woman.  The  rocks  are 
known  as  “The  Old  Man”  and  “The  Old  Woman.” 

A little  farther  down  stream  is  a place  where  the  Yukon 
cuts  its  way  through  towering  cliffs  banded  with  a dozen 
different  colours,  white,  gold,  black,  brown,  green,  and 
red.  The  strata  lie  in  undulating  folds,  like  the  stripes 
of  a waving  flag.  They  look  rough  enough  to  have  been 
gnawed  out  by  the  snaggy  teeth  of  old  Father  Time. 
In  Europe  this  rock  formation  would  have  some  romantic 
title.  Here  it  is  called  “The  Calico  Bluff.”  As  we  went 
by  it  in  the  steamer  one  of  the  passengers  who  had  a 
revolver  amused  himself  by  sending  bullets  into  the  strata, 
declaring  in  advance  just  which  coloured  ribbon  he 
expected  to  hit. 

Leaving  the  bluffs,  we  struck  a patch  of  green  forest  and 
frightened  two  moose  that  had  come  to  the  river  to 
drink.  We  saw  a lynx  swimming  the  river,  and  a mile 
farther  on  passed  a fishing  wheel  which,  turned  by  the 

1 16 


The  strata  of  these  cliffs  are  brilliantly  coloured,  red,  gold,  white,  brown, 
and  green.  If  in  Europe  they  would  undoubtedly  bear  a romantic  name 
but  to  travellers  along  the  Yukon  they  are  simply  the  “Calico  Bluffs.” 


For  hundreds  of  miles  through  the  Y ukon  flats  no  signs  of  human  habita- 
tion are  to  be  seen  except  the  shack  of  an  occasional  woodchopper  or  the 
fish-wheels  set  in  the  stream. 


The  Alaska-Yukon  boundary  is  the  longest  straight  international 
borderline  ever  surveyed.  Where  it  crosses  the  Yukon  River  it  is  marked 
by  a cleared  strip  through  the  forest. 


IN  THE  YUKON  FLATS 


current,  was  scooping  up  pink  salmon  and  throwing  them 
into  a wooden  box  at  the  end.  Behind  the  wheel  on  the 
shore  were  the  tents  of  the  Athapascan  Indians,  who  were 
thus  laying  in  winter  food  for  themselves  and  their 
dogs. 

I have  been  interested  in  the  homes  of  the  Athapascans 
on  this  part  of  the  Yukon.  They  live  in  substantial  log 
cabins  painted  in  all  the  colours  of  the  rainbow.  Many  of 
their  houses  have  frame  doors  and  glass  windows.  Some 
of  these  Indians  are  now  planting  gardens,  and  not  a few 
use  cook  stoves  and  other  furniture  like  that  of  the  whites. 
Most  of  them  have  become  Christians,  although  they 
retain  many  of  their  old  superstitions  and  customs.  The 
Government  has  established  public  schools  in  all  of  the 
large  villages,  where  the  younger  generation  is  learning  to 
speak  English. 

The  Canadian  boundary  line  is  so  marked  that  it  can 
be  easily  seen.  It  is  a wide  strip  cut  through  the  woods 
up  hill  and  down  dale,  from  south  to  north,  from  where 
our  line  ends  near  the  Pacific  Ocean  to  the  Arctic  Ocean. 
It  starts  within  thirty  miles  of  the  Pacific  and  goes  straight 
toward  the  North  Pole  for  a distance  of  eight  hundred  and 
seventy-five  miles.  It  is  the  longest  continuous  straight 
boundary  line  ever  surveyed.  We  could  see  it  from  the 
steamer  coming  down  the  slopes  on  the  south  side  of  the 
river  and  climbing  straight  up  to  the  hills  at  the  north. 

At  the  international  boundary  the  Yukon  is  compara- 
tively narrow.  Its  width  varies,  according  to  the  level 
of  the  river,  from  twelve  hundred  to  thirteen  hundred 
feet.  It  has  two  channels  at  that  point,  one  of  which 
is  six  hundred  feet  wide  and  twenty  feet  deep,  and  the 
other  four  hundred  feet  wide  and  twenty-six  feet  deep. 

117 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


The  river  widens  as  it  leaves  the  boundary,  and  keeps  on 
its  winding  way  through  the  hills  for  two  hundred  or  three 
hundred  miles,  until  it  reaches  Circle,  where  the  great 
inland  sea  of  the  Yukon  flats  begins. 

Here  in  the  flats  the  land  is  low  and  built  up  by  the 
silt  of  the  river.  The  flats,  which  have  an  area  almost  as 
large  as  that  of  South  Carolina,  lie  between  the  two  ranges 
of  mountains  bordering  Alaska  at  the  north  and  the  south. 
The  Yukon  corkscrews  for  two  hundred  miles  through 
these  lowlands  in  a network  of  sloughs,  great  inland 
lakes,  and  ox-bows  made  by  the  islands.  The  river 
stretches  on  and  on  as  though  it  would  drop  into  space, 
and  the  low  wooded  banks  seem  fences  over  which,  if  one 
climbed,  one  would  fall  into  nothingness.  Standing  on 
the  bridge  of  the  steamer,  one  can  almost  look  over  the 
trees.  The  earth  as  far  as  one  can  see  is  flat. 

Everywhere  the  Yukon  is  at  its  work  of  earth-building. 
Its  waters  are  melting  the  prehistoric  ice  that  begins  two 
or  three  feet  under  the  moss  and  muck  covering;  and  great 
blankets  of  earth,  studded  with  trees,  fall  down  into  the 
river.  Sandbars  rise  in  a season,  and  islands  are  created 
or  swept  away  with  the  floods  of  one  spring.  There  are 
no  rocks  anywhere.  The  bed  of  the  river  is  silt,  which 
goes  down  to  great  depths.  There  are  so  many  channels 
among  the  islands  that  a man  without  a compass  and 
sailing  directions  would  surely  get  lost.  Indeed,  in  the 
early  days  the  cheechakos,  or  tenderfeet,  coming  here  to 
get  gold,  were  facetiously  warned  to  beware  of  the  Yukon 
flats,  as  they  might  wander  into  channels  that  would 
lead  them  into  the  Arctic  Ocean  instead  of  the  main  course 
of  the  river.  Our  steamer  had  spars  at  the  side  which 
could  be  dropped  into  the  sand  so  that  the  engine  could 

1 18 


IN  THE  YUKON  FLATS 


pry  itself  off  in  case  it  grounded  on  a newly  made  or 
uncharted  shoal. 

The  river  is  wonderfully  quiet.  Sometimes  we  sailed 
a hundred  miles  or  more  without  seeing  a town  or  any 
sign  of  habitation.  I he  few  men  living  along  its  course 
within  the  flats  chop  wood  to  sell  to  the  steamers.  The 
captain  asked  one  of  them  the  other  day  the  price  of  the 
wood. 

The  man  replied:  “Dave  Drollette  has  been  telling 
around  the  neighbourhood  that  1 have  been  selling  wood  at 
five  dollars  a cord,  but  it  ain’t  so.” 

“Neighbourhood,”  indeed!  The  man’s  nearest  neigh- 
bour is  forty  miles  off  and  Dave  Drollette  lives  one  hundred 
miles  up  the  river. 

This  absence  of  man  made  the  wilderness  impressive. 
The  mighty  stream  and  the  great  dome  of  the  sky  with 
its  low-hung  clouds,  which  seemed  always  stationary, 
made  me  feel  but  an  atom  in  God’s  mighty  world.  Most 
of  the  time  the  only  living  things  visible  were  those  on  our 
boat,  and  the  only  noises  the  splashing  of  the  paddle  wheel 
at  the  stern,  the  voices  of  the  people  on  deck,  and  the 
howls  of  the  dogs  we  were  carrying  to  the  roadhouses  down 
stream. 

The  first  settlement  over  the  international  boundary  is 
an  Indian  village  above  which,  on  a pole  erected  beside  a 
log  church,  floats  the  American  flag.  Near  by  may  be  seen 
the  black  mast  of  the  wireless  station  of  Boundary, 
the  first  outpost  of  the  Signal  Corps  of  our  army,  whose 
telegraph  system  covers  the  greater  part  of  the  territory. 
Still  farther  on  is  Eagle,  the  first  American  town  on  the 
Yukon.  Eagle  prides  itself  on  its  Americanism.  It  has 
a poem,  celebrating  the  advantages  of  Alaska  over  Canada, 

119 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


which  was  prepared  as  a greeting  for  the  tourist  on  crossing 
the  boundary.  I give  you  a part  of  one  verse: 

You  may  here  forget  there  are  crowns  and  kings, 

Ladies-in-waiting  and  such  like  things; 

For  now  you  are  under  the  Eagle’s  wings. 

We  could  see  the  American  flags  of  Eagle  even  before 
we  caught  sight  of  the  houses.  Every  cabin  had  a tall 
flagstaff  attached  to  its  roof,  and  from  the  Yukon  1 
counted  a dozen  flags  floating  in  the  breeze. 

The  Eagle  of  to-day  is  a “has  been.”  It  is  like  the 
deserted  mining  camps  of  the  West  which  were  abandoned 
when  the  gold  played  out.  1 n its  palmy  days  it  was  known 
as  Eagle  City,  and  had  hundreds  of  inhabitants  and  all 
the  riotous  life  that  came  from  the  successful  diggings 
close  by.  It  still  has  about  one  hundred  one-story  log 
cabins,  but  half  of  them  are  deserted  and  some  are  falling 
to  ruins. 

Many  of  the  cabins  have  gardens  about  them  in  which 
are  large  crops  of  potatoes  and  carrots.  The  streets  are 
grass  grown,  and  grass  and  flowers  grow  luxuriantly  on  the 
dirt  roofs  of  the  cabins.  As  our  boat  came  to  anchor  I 
heard  a rooster  crowing,  and  as  1 walked  up  the  banks  I 
could  hear  the  bells  of  the  cows  pasturing  near  the  town 
pump. 

The  town  pump  is  one  of  the  features  of  Eagle.  It 
stands  over  a well  and  is  worked  by  a windmill.  There  is 
a tall  white  tower  beside  the  windmill  and  a drinking 
place  at  the  front.  In  the  days  before  prohibition  Eagle 
had  a first-class  saloon  but  no  public  school.  I asked 
one  of  the  women  why  this  was.  She  replied:  “The  only 
revenue  the  town  had  was  the  one-thousand-dollar  license 


120 


IN  THE  YUKON  FLATS 

paid  by  the  saloon,  and  it  took  all  that  to  keep  up  the 
town  pump.” 

Leaving  Eagle,  we  stopped  next  at  Circle,  another 
half-deserted  village  living  on  the  memories  of  its  past. 
It  sprang  up  in  1892,  when  gold  was  discovered  on  Birch 
Creek  near  by,  and  a little  later  it  had  a population  of  one 
thousand  miners.  It  boasted  that  it  was  the  largest  log- 
cabin  town  in  the  world.  Then  the  gold  began  to  give 
out  and  most  of  the  men  left  in  the  stampede  to  the 
Klondike.  It  has  now  many  abandoned  homes  made  of 
logs,  a store  or  so,  and  a restaurant.  The  population  al- 
together is  two  or  three  hundred. 

While  the  steamer  was  tied  up  there,  I called  at  the 
restaurant,  and  its  owner,  Fred  Brentlinger,  showed  me 
a pair  of  Arctic  ox  horns  which  he  had  dug  from  the 
ice  thirty  feet  under  the  ground.  These  horns  meas- 
ure three  feet  from  tip  to  tip  and  are  well  preserved. 
He  told  me  the  price  was  five  hundred  dollars.  The 
whole  country  has  the  remains  of  prehistoric  animals 
locked  up  in  vaults  of  perpetual  ice.  In  the  Klondike 
there  have  been  dug  up  the  bones  of  mastodons  and  other 
giant  animals  of  the  past;  and  nearly  every  town  has  a 
great  ivory  tusk  or  skeleton  of  an  animal  that  lived  in 
Alaska  before  the  Ice  Age  began.  Curios  made  of  such 
ivory  are  for  sale  in  many  of  the  stores,  and  if  one  wants 
a tusk  or  tooth  some  hundred  thousand  years  old  it  is 
easy  to  get  it. 

Brentlinger  has  two  bear  cubs,  each  of  which  lives  in  a 
ten-gallon  keg  back  of  the  restaurant.  They  are  as  black 
as  ink  and  as  lively  as  kittens. 

It  is  wonderful  how  tame  these  Alaskan  bears  become 
when  caught  as  cubs  and  treated  as  pets.  I find  some  in 

1 2 j 


ALASKA—OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


every  mining  settlement.  There  are  two  here  at  Fort 
Yukon  within  a stone’s  throw  of  where  the  steamer  lands. 
They  watch  for  the  stranger  and  will  eat  and  drink  out  of 
his  hand.  1 have  amused  myself  feeding  them  pop  out  of 
a bottle.  I buy  the  pop  at  Jim  Haley’s  roadhouse,  and 
the  bears  will  drink  it  out  of  a bottle  while  1 hold  it  in  my 
hand;  or  I can  give  the  bottle  to  Bruin  and  he  will  sit 
down  and  drink  it  all  by  himself. 

Fort  Yukon  is  just  inside  the  Arctic  Circle,  and  at  this 
time  of  the  year  it  is  light  for  twenty-four  hours.  It  is  the 
most  northerly  point  on  the  Yukon  River  and  a fine  place 
to  see  the  midnight  sun.  1 have  experimented  here  with 
taking  photographs  at  midnight.  My  snapshots  are 
fairly  good,  and  with  a gentle  squeeze  of  the  bulb  I got 
the  best  of  results. 

Fort  Yukon  has  been  of  great  importance  as  a mining 
centre  but  is  to-day  better  known  as  a fur-trading  post. 
The  Hudson’s  Bay  Company  used  to  come  here  to  buy 
furs,  and  boat  loads  are  now  brought  down  the  Porcupine 
River  by  the  Indians  and  other  fur  traders.  The  Porcu- 
pine is  navigable  for  two  hundred  and  twenty-five  miles, 
or  as  far  as  Rampart  House  on  the  other  side  of  the  inter- 
national boundary.  One  of  our  passengers  was  Dan 
Cadzo,  the  trader,  who  lives  there.  He  left  us  here  to  go 
up  the  Porcupine  to  his  trading  station. 

Everyone  in  Alaska  has  heard  of  Dan  Cadzo.  He  is  one 
of  the  biggest  traders  of  the  Far  North.  Cadzo  is  content 
to  live  almost  all  alone  in  the  wilds  two  hundred  miles 
from  the  nearest  settlement.  His  home  is  about  one 
hundred  and  fifty  miles  south  of  the  Arctic  Ocean,  a little 
farther  from  Ft.  McPherson  on  a branch  of  the  Mackenzie, 
and  two  hundred  and  twenty-five  miles  from  Fort  Yukon. 


122 


IN  THE  YUKON  FLATS 


Nevertheless,  he  likes  it.  He  said  to  me  to-day:  “I  am 
mighty  glad  to  get  back  from  outside.  I am  tired  of  the 
crowd,  and  want  to  be  where  it  is  quiet  again.” 

I asked  him  to  tell  me  about  his  home  in  the  wilderness. 
He  replied: 

“My  house  is  about  sixteen  by  forty,  with  wings  at  the 
side.  It  is  made  of  logs  and  lined  with  the  best  beaver 
board.  We  have  double  windows,  and  our  wood  stoves 
keep  us  as  warm  as  toast,  though  the  thermometer  some- 
times goes  down  to  seventy  degrees  below  zero.” 

“Tell  me  something  about  your  store.” 

“ It  is  just  over  the  boundary  in  Canada,  and  I take  my 
goods  there  in  my  own  steamer  up  the  Porcupine  River. 
Most  of  the  freight  on  this  ship  belongs  to  me.  My  stock 
is  worth  about  twenty  thousand  dollars.  I use  it  to  trade 
with  the  Indians,  Eskimos,  and  white  trappers  who  hunt 
there  for  furs.  We  have  the  best  of  goods,  get  high  prices, 
and  pay  cash  for  furs.  We  buy  thousands  of  dollars’  worth 
of  furs  every  season.  Most  of  them  come  from  the 
Indians,  for  there  are  not  a half-dozen  white  men  in  the 
whole  country.  We  are  so  far  away  that  we  did  not  know 
there  was  a war  in  1914  until  we  came  out  with  our  furs  in 
1915.  You  see  our  nearest  mail  station  is  here  at  Fort 
Yukon,  and  we  have  to  go  four  hundred  and  fifty  miles 
every  time  we  call  at  the  post  office.” 


123 


CHAPTER  XV 


WINTER  TALES  OF  TANANA 

TANANA  claims  to  be  the  hub  of  Alaska.  It  is 
a little  town  lying  on  the  right  bank  of  the 
Yukon  just  about  half  way  between  the  Pacific 
and  the  Arctic  oceans  and  half  way  down  the 
Yukon  on  its  course  from  the  Canadian  line  at  Eagle. 
I have  come  eight  hundred  miles  down  the  river  from 
Canada  on  my  way  to  this  point,  and  1 have  eight  hundred 
miles  more  to  go  before  I can  get  the  little  steamer  that 
will  take  me  over  Bering  Sea  to  Nome.  Just  opposite 
where  my  boat  is  anchored  is  the  mouth  of  the  Tanana 
River,  a wide  sluggish  stream  having  a course  of  some- 
thing like  six  hundred  miles  from  the  Wrangell  Mountains 
to  where  it  flows  into  the  Yukon.  It  will  take  me  two 
days  to  go  up  it  to  Fairbanks. 

There  is  no  doubt  that  Tanana  can  offer  room  for  all 
the  population  she  may  have  in  the  future.  The  corporate 
limits  at  present  are  large  enough  to  give  an  acre  to  every 
man,  woman,  and  child  of  the  population  of  less  than  three 
hundred  and  leave  some  to  spare.  The  log  and  frame 
buildings  of  the  town  are  strung  out  along  the  waterfront 
for  more  than  a mile.  At  the  lower  end  of  it  begins  the 
army  post  of  Fort  Gibbon,  which  extends  three  miles 
farther,  and  which  has  a government  reservation  of  sixty 
square  miles. 

The  people  of  Tanana  are  enthusiastic  Alaskans.  They 

124 


Steamers  on  the  upper  Yukon  have  to  make  frequent  stops  at  the  chop- 
pers’ stations  to  take  on  fuel.  The  nearest  neighbours  to  these  woodcut- 
ters are  often  over  one  hundred  miles  away. 


Nearly  every  Alaskan  town  has  collections  of  mastodons  and  other 
prehistoric  animals  dug  up  out  of  the  bed  of  perpetual  ice  that  lies  beneath 
the  layer  of  top  soil.  Curios  carved  from  these  ancient  bones  are  sold 
everywhere. 


Alaskan  bears,  caught  as  cubs,  make  wonderfully  tame  pets.  They 
watch  for  the  stranger  and  will  eat  out  of  his  hand.  A bottle  of  pop  is 
especially  welcome  to  “Brer  B’ar’s”  sweet  tooth. 


WINTER  TALES  OF  TANANA 


have  a live  chamber  of  commerce,  a camp  of  the  Arctic 
Brotherhood,  and  a lodge  of  the  Loyal  Order  of  the  Moose, 
Talk  to  them  about  their  village  and  they  will  make  you 
think  it  a paradise  as  beautiful  as  the  Vale  of  Kashmir 
and  as  salubrious  as  Los  Angeles.  I asked  Judge  Dehn, 
the  United  States  Commissioner,  who  has  been  here  a 
number  of  years,  what  he  thought  of  the  climate.  He 
replied : 

“I  like  it  and  I keep  healthy  and  happy  summer  and 
winter.  Our  summers,  which  last  from  May  until  the 
middle  of  September,  are  more  delightful  than  those  any- 
where in  the  States.  The  thermometer  ranges  from  forty- 
five  to  ninety  degrees  above  zero,  and  for  most  of  the 
time  there  is  scarcely  an  hour  that  you  cannot  read  within 
doors  without  artificial  light.  From  June  1 5th  to  the  10th 
of  July  there  is  no  real  darkness,  even  at  midnight.” 

“How  about  your  winters?”  I asked. 

‘‘The  man  who  went  away  from  here  and  said  that  we 
have  nine  months  of  hard  winter  and  after  that  three 
months  of  bad  sleighing  is  a liar.  Our  winter  starts  in 
about  October  1st,  when  the  thermometer  drops  to  fifteen 
degrees  above  zero.  At  that  time  the  ground  freezes 
and  remains  solid  all  winter.  The  frost  goes  down  to  the 
bed  of  glacial  ice  that  lies  under  a great  part  of  Alaska, 
and,  as  far  as  we  know,  we  live  on  a solid  ice  block  for 
seven  months  of  the  year.  The  glacial  ice  does  not  melt 
in  summer.  The  frost  gets  only  through  the  moss  and 
muck  which  is  ten  inches  or  more  deep,  and  where  you 
pull  up  the  muck  you  find  the  ground  below  frozen  solid. 
If  you  clear  off  the  moss  and  the  muck  it  will  thaw  down 
to  eight  or  ten  feet,  but  in  the  winter  such  ground  seems  to 
freeze  from  the  top  and  the  bottom  both  until  it  is  all 

125 


ALASKA — OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


hard  as  rock.  The  frost  begins  to  go  out  of  the  ground 
about  May  ist  when  the  hot  sun  thaws  the  ice.  It  is  then 
that  summer  begins.” 

"But  your  winter  weather  must  be  terribly  cold.” 
“Not  so  bad.  Not  so  bad,”  said  Judge  Dehn.  “The 
weather  keeps  growing  colder  and  colder  from  October 
on  until  it  gets  down  to  fifteen  degrees  below  zero.  It 
holds  that  average  throughout  the  winter  although  it 
now  and  then  falls  to  forty  and  even  sixty  degrees  below. 
I have  seen  it  down  to  seventy-three  below.  Zero  is  warm 
winter  weather  and  we  do  not  consider  fifteen  degrees 
below  that  point  uncomfortable.  At  such  times  we  wear 
our  ordinary  winter  clothing  and  take  off  our  top  coats 
if  we  are  at  hard  manual  labour.  I came  here  from 
Canton,  Ohio.  Fifteen  degrees  below  zero  on  the  Yukon 
does  not  seem  as  cold  as  fifteen  above  in  Ohio.  Our  air 
is  dry  and  we  do  not  feel  the  cold. 

“Besides,”  continued  the  judge,  “our  houses  keep  out 
the  cold.  They  are  made  of  logs,  chinked  with  Arctic 
moss.  The  warmest  building  I have  is  my  log  chicken 
house  which  is  lined  and  ceiled  with  a framework,  the 
space  between  being  filled  with  shavings.  I keep  an 
air-tight  stove  going  in  it,  and  my  hens  lay  all  winter.” 
I went  out  with  the  judge  to  see  his  chickens.  He  has 
one  hundred  and  fifty,  mostly  Rhode  Island  Reds  and 
Plymouth  Rocks.  He  sells  his  pure-bred  fowls  at  five 
dollars  apiece,  and  he  gets  a dollar  and  a half  a dozen  for 
eggs  in  summer  and  two  dollars  and  a half  in  winter. 

Speaking  of  chickens,  I have  been  greatly  interested  in 
how  they  are  handled  in  these  cold  regions  of  the  Far 
North.  We  brought  eight  hundred  brooded  fowls  on  our 
ship  down  the  Yukon.  They  had  come  from  Seattle 

126 


WINTER  TALES  OF  TANANA 


and  were  consigned  to  a man  in  Fairbanks.  They  are  still 
on  the  boat  and  will  go  up  the  Tanana  River  to-morrow. 
At  Dawson  I met  Chicken  Billy,  who  at  one  time  had 
nine  hundred  chickens  and  who  has  sold  eggs  in  the  winter 
for  as  much  as  five  dollars  a dozen. 

The  chickens  imported  from  the  States  will  not  lay  un- 
less there  is  the  same  proportion  of  light  and  darkness 
in  their  days  as  they  were  used  to  at  home.  I heard  of  a 
man  at  Circle  who  imported  a lot  of  fowls  from  the  States 
with  the  idea  of  starting  a chicken  farm.  After  a week 
or  so  they  grew  droopy.  They  lost  flesh  and  he  got  no 
eggs  whatever.  He  was  then  told  the  chickens  were 
suffering  from  lack  of  sleep.  It  was  midsummer  when  the 
light  is  bright  throughout  the  twenty-four  hours.  The 
chickens  had  no  sunset  to  mark  their  bedtime,  and  they 
kept  on  scratching  gravel  all  night.  The  man  decided  to 
put  them  in  darkened  coops  at  8 p.  m.  and  keep  them  there 
until  morning.  The  hens  at  once  regained  their  old  vigour 
and  began  to  drop  “ranch  eggs”  which  sold  at  top  prices. 
I am  told  also  that  the  coops  must  be  lighted  during  the 
long  dark  days  of  the  winter  in  order  to  make  the  hens  lay. 

In  the  past  few  years  there  has  been  a craze  in  Alaska  in 
favour  of  the  “helpful  hen.”  Most  of  the  residents  have 
been  keeping  chickens  and  raising  their  own  eggs.  At 
first  many  kept  them  throughout  the  summer  and  sold 
them  as  cold  weather  came  on  to  save  the  expense  of 
warming  and  lighting  the  coops  during  the  long  winter 
nights.  They  would  import  a second  flock  for  the  follow- 
ing summer.  To-day  it  is  the  custom  to  keep  your 
chickens  in  summer  and  put  them  out  to  board  in  winter. 
In  several  of  the  largest  towns  there  are  a number  of 
chicken  boarding  houses,  where  fowls  are  cared  for  in 

1 27 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


well-warmed,  well-lighted  coops  at  a regular  rate.  The 
eggs  laid  during  the  winter  go  to  the  landlord.  As  soon 
as  the  warm  weather  comes  on,  the  owner  takes  back  his 
chickens  and  is  thus  able  to  raise  broilers  and  pullets  and 
at  the  same  time  have  plenty  of  eggs. 

All  winter  the  whole  country  is  a cold  storage  plant,  so 
that  it  is  easy  to  keep  meat.  Each  householder,  having 
decided  how  many  chickens  she  will  put  out  to  board,  kills 
the  rest.  She  cleans  and  dresses  them  and  hangs  them 
out  of  doors  or  in  an  unheated  building.  They  freeze 
solid  the  first  night  and  can  then  be  laid  away  in  a cold 
place  and  used  as  needed. 

A teacher  told  me  how  they  managed  to  have  fresh  meat 
all  winter  long.  Said  he: 

“We  bring  our  beef  and  mutton  in  on  the  hoof  before 
navigation  closes.  About  the  middle  of  October,  when  we 
are  sure  of  a steady  cold  until  spring,  we  kill  and  dress 
them  and  hang  them  up  out  of  doors.  We  then  lay  them 
away  and  thaw  them  out  as  the  market  demands.  We 
freeze  caribou  and  moose  the  same  way.  Last  year  one 
of  the  butchers  froze  a caribou  with  the  skin  and  horns 
on,  just  as  it  looked  when  alive.  He  stood  the  carcass  out 
in  front  of  his  shop  and  used  it  for  a sign.” 

Betting  on  the  ice  in  the  river  is  a regular  sport  in  this 
part  of  the  world  and  many  are  the  speculations  on  when 
it  will  form,  how  deep  it  will  freeze,  and  when  it  will  go 
out  in  the  spring.  One  of  the  river  captains  tells  me  he 
has  measured  the  ice  of  the  Yukon  and  found  it  at  times 
five  feet  thick.  In  the  ordinary  season  the  ice  on  the 
main  part  of  the  stream  is  only  two  and  one  half  or  three 
feet  deep.  The  ice  forms  the  great  highway  of  travel 
in  winter  weather. 


128 


WINTER  TALES  OF  TANANA 


1 asked  this  captain  to  tell  me  more  about  the  ice  on 
the  Yukon.  He  said: 

“Navigation  opens  at  Dawson  between  the  6th  and 
1 6th  of  May,  and  it  usually  closes  about  the  25th  of  Oc- 
tober. Long  before  the  centre  of  the  river  is  frozen,  there 
is  a continuous  strip  of  ice  along  the  shores,  and  cakes  of 
it  float  in  the  channel.  As  the  cold  weather  continues, 
the  ice  extends  farther  and  farther  out,  until  the  channel 
grows  so  narrow  that  the  steamers  cannot  make  their 
way  through.  The  floating  cakes  increase  in  number, 
and  pile  up  until  at  last  they  make  gorges  at  the  narrow 
places  and  form  solid  ice  there.  As  winter  settles  down 
into  a steady  cold,  the  whole  river  is  frozen  from  bank  to 
bank,  so  solidly  that  a train  of  cars  could  be  run  over  it. 

“The  most  interesting  time  on  the  Yukon,’’  continued 
the  captain,  “is  when  the  ice  breaks  up  in  the  spring. 
That  on  the  upper  part  of  the  river  breaks  first  and  pushes 
its  way  down  the  stream,  breaking  the  other  ice  as  it 
goes.  The  boats  start  in  behind  the  ice  and  move  along 
as  fast  as  they  can,  and  sometimes  small  boats  start  in 
the  ice.  The  water  never  freezes  again  after  it  once 
melts,  for  we  then  have  the  long  days  and  the  sunshiny 
nights  of  the  summer.’’ 

1 asked  the  captain  to  tell  me  about  the  betting  on  the 
ice-break. 

“That  is  most  exciting,”  was  his  reply.  “All  along  the 
Yukon  the  people  bet  when  the  great  ice-break  will 
occur.  They  organize  pools  at  Dawson  and  Fairbanks, 
where  large  sums  are  lost  and  won  at  the  whim  of  Jack 
Frost.  At  Dawson  they  cut  a hole  in  the  ice  in  the 
middle  of  the  Yukon  and  erect  a pole  about  four  inches 
thick  and  twenty  feet  high.  This  freezes  solid.  They 

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ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


then  fasten  one  end  of  a wire  cable  to  the  top  of  the  pole 
and  the  other  end  to  an  electric  stop  clock  on  the  shore 
set  to  standard  time.  The  moment  the  ice  moves  the 
pole  the  clock  stops,  and  that  moment  marks  the  record 
of  the  beginning  of  the  ice-break  and  decides  all  bets.  As 
soon  as  the  clock  stops  a steam  whistle  is  blown,  and 
everyone  knows  the  hour  and  the  minute  of  the  running. 
The  usual  date  is  about  May  ioth,  the  time  when  corn  is 
planted  in  the  Middle  States. 

“Generally  the  betting  pool  at  Dawson  has  about 
sixty  subscribers,"  the  captain  went  on,  “and  the  total 
amount  may  be  as  much  as  six  thousand  dollars.  After 
a pool  has  been  formed,  sixty  slips  of  paper,  bearing  the 
numbers  from  one  to  sixty,  are  put  in  a hat.  Each  number 
represents  a minute  of  the  hour,  and  the  man  who  gets 
the  minute  shown  by  the  stop  clock  as  the  flood  reaches 
Dawson  is  given  the  purse.  Bets  are  also  made  on  the 
day  of  the  month  and  week  and  upon  the  hour  of  the  day 
at  which  the  whistle  will  blow.  One  year  the  engineer  on 
the  steamship  Sarah  invested  one  dollar  in  a five-hundred- 
dollar  pool,  and  won  it  all.  That  was  a day,  hour,  and 
minute  pool.  He  guessed  the  right  time  to  a minute. 
There  are  also  many  individual  bets.  The  crowds 
gather  on  the  banks  of  the  river  as  the  ice  shows  signs  of 
breaking  and  watch  the  pole.  When  the  whistle  blows 
the  city  goes  mad. 

“The  same  betting  goes  on  at  Fairbanks.  The  time 
there  is  the  exact  minute  the  ice  tears  away  the  bridge 
across  the  Chena  River,  in  the  heart  of  the  town.  It 
does  that  every  spring,  breaking  the  posts  as  though  they 
were  matches.” 

I find  there  is  a difference  of  opinion  as  to  Alaska  win- 

i 30 


WINTER  TALES  OF  TANANA 


ters.  All  are  not  as  enthusiastic  about  the  delights  of 
the  cold  and  darkness  as  those  I have  quoted. 

“ I tell  you  the  winters  are  awful,”  said  one  of  the  wo- 
men I met  here.  “These  people  say  they  enjoy  life  when 
the  thermometer  is  twenty  or  thirty  degrees  below  zero, 
and  that  it  is  not  cold.  I tell  you  it  is  cold,  although  the 
still  air  does  not  make  it  so  bitter. 

“When  it  is  more  than  twenty  below  we  women  stay 
in  the  house  and  so  do  the  men  as  much  as  they  can. 
We  work  by  artificial  light  for  most  of  the  day,  and  when 
spring  comes  everyone  is  peaked  and  deathlike.  With 
the  coming  of  the  long  days  our  colour  returns,  and  in 
summer  we  are  as  healthy  and  rosy  as  can  be. 

“But  the  long,  dark  days  rack  your  nerves  almost  to 
breaking!  You  get  tired  of  yourself  and  your  friends  and 
want  something  new  in  the  way  of  amusement.  You 
sleep  as  long  as  you  can  and  pay  but  little  attention  to 
hours.  All  parties  are  held  late  and  they  often  last  far 
into  the  night.  And  then  the  trouble  of  entertaining! 
Everyone  has  the  same  supplies,  and  the  same  canned 
stuffs  to  select  from.  You  go  to  your  pantry  and  look  at 
the  shelves  in  despair.  It  is  hard  to  know  what  to  serve.” 
When  people  go  out  into  temperatures  of  sixty  or 
seventy  below  they  avoid  violent  exercise.  I am  told 
that  a quick,  deep  breath  of  the  freezing  air  makes  the 
lungs  feel  as  if  they  had  taken  in  burning  steel.  Horses 
are  seldom  allowed  to  go  out  of  their  warmed  stables 
when  the  thermometer  is  around  fifty  below,  as  the  icy 
air  kills  them  by  “burning  out”  their  lungs,  as  they  say 
up  here. 

Another  Alaskan,  talking  to  me  about  funerals,  said: 
“It  is  difficult  to  bury  your  dead  in  a land  where  the 

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ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


prehistoric  ice  lies  only  two  feet  under  the  moss,  and 
where  you  have  to  build  fires  to  thaw  the  ice-frozen  gravel 
beneath.  In  winter  you  sometimes  have  to  chop  the 
graves  out  of  the  ice.  There  is  no  need  of  brick  walls  or 
cement.  The  coffin  is  laid  in  its  ice  tomb,  the  earth 
shovelled  back,  and  soon  all  is  frozen  solid  again.  The 
dead  buried  in  the  winter  remain  frozen  for  an  indefinite 
period,  and  when  taken  up  years  later  look  just  as  in  life. 
The  ice  has  turned  them,  as  it  were,  to  statues  of  marble." 

In  the  long,  dark  months  the  only  contact  with  the 
outside  is  the  mail  brought  over  hundreds  of  frozen  miles 
by  dog  team.  It  takes  little  imagination  to  realize  what 
it  means  to  the  interior  towns  to  have  a poor  mail  service 
and  we  can  readily  sympathize  with  the  complaints  and 
pleas  for  delivery  of  letters,  papers,  and  magazines  that 
bombard  the  Government. 

The  people  complain  that  a large  part  of  their  news- 
papers and  magazines  which  should  arrive  during  the 
winter  are  held  over  until  spring  when  they  are  delivered 
in  bulk.  For  instance,  one  postmaster  received  in  June 
six  hundred  sacks  of  such  mail,  much  of  which  was  dated 
as  far  back  as  September,  October,  and  November  of  the 
previous  year.  Think  of  getting  all  the  copies  of  your  pet 
newspaper  published  this  winter  in  one  big  package  in 
the  coming  May! 

Moreover,  the  people  of  Alaska  say  that  the  long  winter 
is  their  time  for  reading,  and  they  want  their  newspapers 
and  magazines  delivered  as  they  come  out.  They  es- 
pecially resent  the  fact  that  in  Dawson,  situated  far 
inland,  the  Canadians  get  all  their  mail  regularly  in  spite 
of  transportation  difficulties  as  great  as  those  to  be  over- 
come in  reaching  Alaska  towns. 

132 


Interior  Alaska  in  winter  time  is  a natural  cold  storage  plant,  and 
dried  salmon,  meat,  and  furs  are  kept  in  outdoor  caches,  built  high  above 
the  ground  to  protect  them  from  pawling  dogs  and  deep  snows. 


I he  inland  rivers  freeze  up  in  October,  sometimes  to  a depth  of  five  feet 
or  more,  and  become  the  main  highways.  Floods  often  accompany  the 
spring  thaws,  filling  the  streets  of  towns  with  tons  of  ice. 


“Stooping  down  on  the  narrow  fork  between  the  two  streams,  I put 
one  hand  in  hot  water  and  the  other  in  an  ice-cold  brook — both  from  near- 
by springs.” 


Alaska  offers  opportunity  for  unusual  “stunts”  in  photography.  This 
picture  of  Mt.  McKinley  was  made  at  night  near  Fairbanks,  over  seventy- 
five  miles  away,  with  two  hours’  exposure  when  the  moon  was  shining. 


CHAPTER  XVI 


HOT  SPRINGS  IN  COLD  LANDS 

HOT  springs  in  Alaska!  Boiling  water  bubbling 
out  of  the  beds  of  glaciers!  Steam  rising  from 
the  earth  on  the  edge  of  ages-old  ice  several 
hundreds  of  feet  deep!  Scalding  baths  in 
hot  water  from  Mother  Earth’s  own  tank  almost  in  the 
shadow  of  the  North  Pole!  These  are  some  of  the  won- 
ders of  our  great  territory  whose  shores  are  washed  by 
the  chill  Bering  Sea  and  the  icy  Arctic. 

I have  heard  of  hot  springs  ever  since  I came  to  Alaska. 
They  are  to  be  found  from  the  islands  of  the  Panhandle 
to  the  very  edge  of  the  Arctic.  Fifty  miles  north  of 
Ketchikan  are  the  Belle  Island  Hot  Springs,  where  the 
water  is  164  degrees  Fahrenheit,  or  hot  enough  to  cook 
eggs.  A little  farther  north  are  the  Sitka  Hot  Springs, 
whose  waters  register  1 56  degrees  above  zero,  and  on 
Chichagof  Island,  between  Sitka  and  Juneau,  are  the 
Tenakee  Hot  Springs  which  have  been  made  a flourishing 
resort  for  both  the  summer  and  the  winter  seasons.  In 
fact,  the  Geological  Survey  has  discovered  hot  springs 
in  many  different  parts  of  the  territory. 

The  Baker  Hot  Springs,  which  I have  just  visited,  are 
on  the  Tanana  River  about  twelve  hours  by  steamer 
from  Tanana  and  Fort  Gibbon,  and  one  hundred  miles 
from  Fairbanks.  They  lie  about  three  miles  back  from 
the  Tanana  River,  and  upon  landing  I got  a hay  wagon 

•33 


ALASKA — OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


to  carry  me  across  to  the  town  near  the  springs.  A 
fairly  good  corduroy  road  covered  with  sawdust  and  muck 
crosses  the  lowlands  and  goes  up  to  the  springs.  This 
land  is  now  covered  with  patches  of  bushes  and  grass  as 
high  as  my  knee.  Some  of  the  grass  is  in  tassel,  and  the 
land  is  sprinkled  with  wild  flowers,  white,  yellow,  and  red, 
whose  names  I know  not. 

Nearing  the  town,  we  drove  over  a corduroy  bridge, 
crossing  a creek  that  flows  into  the  Tanana  River,  and 
stopped  at  the  post  office,  which  is  a wire  cage  inside  the 
galvanized  iron  store  building  of  the  Northern  Com- 
mercial Company.  American  flags,  floating  from  high 
poles  above  three  of  the  log  houses,  showed  the  patriotism 
of  their  owners.  Not  far  from  the  post  office  were  the 
burned  ruins  of  a hotel,  which  was  once  a winter  and 
summer  resort.  The  hotel  had  great  bathing  and  swim- 
ming tanks.  It  was  built  of  logs  and  cost,  it  is  said,  more 
than  forty  thousand  dollars.  To-day  there  is  only  one 
bathing  tank  left.  A cabin  is  built  over  it  and  the  water 
is  piped  from  the  springs  about  a half  mile  away.  1 tested 
the  bath  with  a thermometer  and  it  was  just  1 14  degrees 
Fahrenheit.  It  was  hot  enough  to  paint  my  skin  scarlet 
when  I jumped  in. 

Leaving  the  ruins,  I walked  over  the  hills  to  visit  the 
springs,  passing  through  a farm  of  three  hundred  acres  on 
the  way.  The  road  is  through  an  oatfield  where  there 
were  perhaps  thirty  acres  ready  for  cutting.  I n the  centre 
of  this  field  I saw  the  large  glass  hothouse  built  to  sup- 
ply the  hotel  and  mines  with  cucumbers,  tomatoes,  and 
other  vegetables. 

Coming  to  the  steaming  brook  that  flows  from  the 
spring,  we  passed  a chicken  and  hog  shed  about  four 

'34 


HOT  SPRINGS  IN  COLD  LANDS 


hundred  feet  in  length.  When  business  was  booming  its 
owner  kept  there  six  hundred  and  fifty  hens,  fifty  ducks, 
and  seventy  pigs,  as  well  as  horses  and  cows.  The  sheds 
were  built  into  the  hill  from  whence  the  spring  comes.  The 
ground  is  so  hot  that  it  kept  the  poultry  and  other  stock 
in  comfort  throughout  the  winter,  and  that  without  the 
stoves  necessary  to  other  parts  of  Alaska. 

The  water  moderates  the  temperature  of  the  land  of 
almost  the  whole  farm.  The  adjacent  hill  slopes  are  a 
natural  hotbed.  Snow  falling  on  the  warm  ground  thaws 
so  rapidly  that  the  surface  is  seldom  white  for  more  than 
a couple  of  days  at  a time,  and  the  frost  goes  down  only  an 
inch  or  so.  On  the  edge  of  the  warm  land  young  parsnips 
have  been  dug  in  March  from  under  the  snow,  and  all  other 
crops  are  much  in  advance  of  those  planted  elsewhere. 

At  the  springs  the  warm  water  flows  out  at  the  rate  of 
one  hundred  and  fifty  gallons  a minute.  It  is  as  clear  as 
a crystal,  but  it  is  steaming  at  a temperature  of  125  degrees 
Fahrenheit.  I watched  Mr.  Waring,  the  hot  springs’ 
expert  of  the  Geological  Survey,  as  he  tested  the  heat  and 
measured  the  flow.  He  says  the  water  is  hot  enough  to 
soft-boil  eggs  in  ten  minutes. 

Walking  down  the  stream  thirty  or  forty  feet,  1 found 
another  brook  flowing  into  it,  and  supposed  this  would  be 
of  about  the  same  temperature  as  the  one  we  had  tested. 
I put  in  my  hand.  The  water  was  icy  cold.  Stooping 
down  on  the  narrow  fork  between  the  two  streams,  I put 
one  hand  in  hot  water  and  the  other  in  cold. 

Bouncing  back  in  the  hay  wagon  over  the  corduroy  road 
to  the  river,  1 sat  beside  Tom  Davis,  a farmer  who  does 
teaming  from  the  Tanana  to  the  gold  mines  north  of  here. 
He  told  me  that  the  hay  they  are  now  unloading  from  our 

135 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


steamer  is  worth  ninety  dollars  a ton  at  the  river  and  one 
hundred  and  forty  dollars  a ton  when  it  gets  to  the  mines. 

1 remarked  that  the  price  seemed  an  extravagant  one. 
Said  Mr.  Davis: 

“It  is  not  high  for  Alaska.  1 have  known  hay  to  sell 
as  high  as  eight  hundred  dollars  a ton  or  at  forty  cents  per 
pound.  That  was  in  the  Klondike  when  the  gold  fever 
was  raging.  I once  sold  one  thousand  pounds  of  hay  to 
the  freighters  for  fifty  cents  a pound,  and  weighed  it  out 
on  the  grocery  scales.” 

During  my  stay  in  Alaska  I met  G.  D.  Schofield  of 
Seattle,  the  owner  of  some  of  the  largest  hot  springs  on  the 
Seward  Peninsula.  These  are  even  more  wonderful  than 
the  Baker  Springs.  They  are  situated  about  seventy 
miles  north  of  Nome,  at  the  foot  of  the  Saw-Tooth  Moun- 
tains, fifty  feet  above  sea  level.  A number  of  them  boil 
out  of  the  ground  at  a temperature  of  160  degrees  Fahren- 
heit, maintaining  the  same  heat  winter  and  summer. 
The  springs  form  a stream  called  Hot  Creek  that  runs 
through  a farm  of  three  hundred  and  twenty  acres.  I 
asked  Mr.  Schofield  about  this  farm.  He  replied: 

“We  have  forty  acres  under  cultivation  and  sixty  more 
that  could  be  put  into  crops.  The  whole  of  this  hundred 
acres  is  kept  warm  by  the  springs  and  the  hot  water  under 
the  ground.  If  you  dig  down  anywhere  inside  this  tract 
you  will  find  hot  earth,  and  the  lower  you  go  the  hotter 
it  gets.  At  a depth  of  six  feet  you  cannot  hold  the  earth 
in  your  hands.  There  seems  to  be  a stratum  of  hot  water 
under  the  whole  hundred  acres.  On  the  other  hand,  the 
land  outside  that  area  is  frozen  solid  to  no  one  knows  what 
depth.  Our  farm  is  like  the  crust  of  a hot  pie  fresh  from 
the  oven,  set  on  the  ice  but  never  getting  cold. 

136 


HOT  SPRINGS  IN  COLD  LANDS 


“We  have  a glass  greenhouse,  thirty-six  feet  long  and 
sixteen  feet  wide,  built  above  one  of  the  springs.  The  hot 
water  furnishes  the  heat,  and  no  matter  if  the  temperature 
goes  to  thirty  degrees  below  zero  outside  it  never  goes 
to  freezing  within.  The  plants  grow  in  the  hothouse  all 
winter  and  in  the  summer  we  have  cantaloupes,  cucumbers, 
mushrooms,  tomatoes,  and  watermelons.  We  also  raise 
lettuce,  young  onions,  and  other  green  stuff.  We  have 
a tree  onion  that  grows  well.  It  does  not  lie  in  the  ground 
but  grows  on  the  branches  of  a tree  twelve  or  fourteen 
inches  high.” 

1 asked  Mr.  Schofield  whether  many  people  came  to 
visit  the  springs. 

“Yes,”  he  said,  “we  have  a hotel  accommodating  thirty 
and  the  people  come  in  from  Nome  and  all  parts  of  the 
Seward  Peninsula.  Our  best  season  is  in  the  winter. 
The  guests  come  on  dog  sleds  and  you  can  sometimes  see 
as  many  as  four  hundred  dogs  there  at  once.  It  usually 
takes  two  days  to  make  the  trip  from  Nome  in  winter, 
but  it  can  be  done  in  one  day  in  the  summer  by  going 
over  the  railway  track  with  the  Pup-mobile,  a car  drawn 
by  dogs,  which  takes  you  within  six  miles  of  the  springs.” 

In  coming  from  Tanana  to  Hot  Springs  Landing  I was 
all  day  on  the  Tanana  River.  It  carries  down  such  a vast 
deal  of  silt  that  the  water  is  as  thick  as  bean  soup.  There 
are  frequent  sand  bars  and  we  passed  islands  in  every 
stage  of  formation  from  the  bare  brown  patch  of  silt  to 
forest-clad  areas  washed  by  the  waves.  Now  and  then 
there  were  floating  islands,  great  beds  of  green,  with 
bushes  and  trees  upon  them  moving  down  the  stream. 
In  places  the  river  is  from  five  to  ten  miles  wide  and  quite 
shallow. 

*?7 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


I saw  soil  and  trees,  bushes  and  the  earth  fall  down  into 
the  current  before  my  eyes.  The  river  banks  are  lined 
with  trees  still  living  and  still  green,  which  have  fallen  this 
way  into  the  current.  At  times  the  water  so  melts  the 
frozen  strata  that  caves  are  formed  under  the  matted 
moss,  and  where  there  is  an  open  space  and  no  trees  this 
green  mat  slopes  down  into  the  stream  like  a great  green 
carpet  laid  from  the  bed  of  the  river  up  to  the  shore. 

At  the  wood  camps,  where  the  trees  had  been  cut  away 
to  furnish  fuel  for  the  steamers,  were  great  beds  of  pink 
fireweed  rising  out  of  high  grass.  Coming  up  the  river 
we  saw  here  and  there  pioneers  chopping  little  farms  out 
of  the  forests.  They  first  cut  the  trees  and  a year  later 
pull  out  the  stumps.  The  ice  is  so  close  to  the  surface 
that  the  roots  cannot  go  down  deep,  so  the  stumps  come 
up  rather  easily.  After  clearing,  they  plant  patches  of 
vegetables  or  fields  of  oat-hay.  None  of  the  farms  is 
large,  and  1 believe  it  will  be  a long  time  before  the  local 
market  will  be  big  enough  to  pay  the  farmers  of  the  United 
States  to  leave  their  good  homes  to  try  their  luck  here. 


138 


CHAPTER  XVII 


FAIRBANKS,  THE  CHICAGO  OF  ALASKA 

AIRBANKS,  the  northern  terminus  of  Uncle 


Sam’s  new  railway,  and  the  point  where  the  river 


and  rail  navigation  centre  and  join,  might  be 


called  the  hub  of  Alaska.  It  is  in  the  heart  of  the 
territory  almost  equidistant  from  Bering  Sea  and  the 
Canadian  border,  and  about  half  way  between  the  Pacific 
and  the  Arctic  oceans. 

The  business  of  Fairbanks  is  all  the  more  astonishing 
when  one  realizes  how  inaccessible  the  town  was  before 
the  government  railroad  opened  quick  passage  to  the  sea. 

It  took  me  two  days  to  come  up  the  Tanana  River  from 
Fort  Gibbon  to  Fairbanks.  The  Tanana  is  navigable  for 
some  distance  above  Fairbanks  and  its  valley  has  millions 
of  acres  of  agricultural  land. 

Fairbanks  has  a delightful  individuality.  It  is  a com- 
bination of  the  picturesque  and  the  plain,  of  the  shabby 
and  the  sumptuous,  of  the  old  and  the  new.  Altogether, 
it  is  different  from  any  other  town  1 have  ever  seen. 

Take  a look  at  the  main  business  street.  It  is  a wide 
dirt  road  with  plank  sidewalks  from  which  rise  frame 
buildings  of  one  and  two  stories.  The  front  walls  of  the 
stores  extend  high  above  the  roofs  and  are  cut  off  hori- 
zontally, making  the  buildings  look  taller,  and  giving 
a jagged  skyline.  The  shops  carry  a wide  assortment, 
for  Fairbanks  is  the  trading  centre  of  interior  Alaska, 


139 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


and  goods  from  here  go  to  the  gold-mining  camps  of  the 
Tanana,  the  Yukon,  the  Koyukuk,  and  the  Innoka 
rivers.  Some  of  its  wholesale  firms  do  a business  that 
runs  into  the  millions,  and  steamers  are  always  lying  at 
anchor  just  off  the  principal  street.  There  are  establish- 
ments filled  with  mining  machinery,  and  stores  carry- 
ing all  sorts  of  goods  for  miners,  including  mackinaws 
and  khaki  suits  for  rough  wear.  They  sell  high  boots 
of  white  rubber  and  hob-nailed  shoes  for  tramping 
over  the  rocks  and  through  the  brush.  They  have  also 
silks  and  broadcloths  and  shoes  of  fashionable  makes. 
They  have  moccasins  beautifully  beaded.  Entering  the 
banks  you  will  see  them  taking  in  gold  dust  at  one  window 
and  handing  out  bank  notes  at  another.  Every  bank 
buys  gold  and  all  have  their  assaying  and  melting 
establishments  where  the  metal  is  tested  and  made  into 
bricks  to  be  shipped  outside. 

The  crowds  on  the  streets  are  a mixture.  They  in- 
clude men  and  women  as  well  dressed  as  those  of  any 
city  east  of  the  Alleghanies  and  miners  clad  in  blue  jeans 
or  khaki.  On  the  street  corners  are  groups  of  shirt-sleeved 
men  in  soft  hats  or  sombreros. 

Now  turn  your  eyes  to  the  roadways.  There  are  scores 
of  motor  vehicles  away  up  here  in  the  heart  of  Alaska  and 
jitney  buses  go  regularly  each  day  to  the  gold  creeks. 
There  is  an  overland  stage  that  makes  the  trip  over  the 
beautiful  road  from  Fairbanks  to  Chitina,  the  terminus 
of  the  Copper  River  Railroad.  By  it  one  can  motor  more 
than  three  hundred  miles  through  the  wilds,  and  then 
have  a two-hundred-mile  railroad  ride  down  to  the  sea. 

Fairbanks  has  several  hotels.  I am  stopping  with 
Tony  Nordale,  on  Front  Street,  where  I have  a sitting 

140 


Fairbanks  has  its  women’s  club  and  its  library.  Everywhere  one  meets 
college  men  and  women.  Before  the  railroad  came  the  citizens  com- 
plained bitterly  of  the  winter  mail  service  which  made  their  books  and 
magazines  months  late. 


The  log  cabin  residences  are  snug  in  winter,  when  the  mercury  gets  down 
to  30°  below  zero,  and  in  summer  the  people  raise  in  their  gardens  three- 
pound  tomatoes  and  pea  plants  six  feet  high. 


Betting  on  the  hour  and  minute  of  the  spring  icebreak  provides  intense 
excitement  in  Alaska  river  towns.  In  Fairbanks  the  official  time  of  the 
break  is  when  this  winter  bridge  begins  to  move  down  stream. 


FAIRBANKS,  THE  CHICAGO  OF  ALASKA 

room  and  bedroom  at  about  three  dollars  per  day.  I get 
my  meals  at  a restaurant  kept  by  a young  lady  whose 
rosy  cheeks  and  tow  hair  have  won  her  the  nickname, 
“The  Little  Pink  Swede.”  Her  charge  is  from  fifty 
cents  to  seventy-five  cents  a meal  and  the  food  is  delicious. 
Like  many  of  the  restaurants,  hers  has  a pet  brown  bear, 
a cub  fastened  to  a chain  outside  the  front  door.  It  does 
tricks  for  sugar  plums  or  sweet  cakes. 

When  1 had  my  hair  cut  to-day  it  cost  me  twice  what 
barbers  charge  in  the  States.  As  I left  the  barber  shop 
I stepped  into  the  chair  of  a bootblack  outside  and  the 
shine  cost  me  a quarter.  The  day  was  hot,  so  when  a 
miner  asked  me  in  the  camp  parlance  if  I would  “wash 
my  neck,”  I knew  what  he  meant  and  said  yes.  He 
treated  me  to  a glass  of  lemonade  at  a cost  of  twenty- 
five  cents.  A little  farther  on  a newsboy  offered  me  the 
Alaska  Citizen,  for  which  I handed  him  a quarter,  the 
regular  price  for  the  paper.  A quarter  is  the  smallest 
coin  in  circulation  here  and  means  about  the  same  as  a 
nickel  at  home. 

Fairbanks  is  an  incorporated  town  with  a mayor  and 
council  and  claims  to  be  the  livest  city  in  Alaska.  It  has 
much  civic  spirit  and  practically  all  the  community  organ- 
izations and  activities  of  a town  many  times  its  size  in 
the  States.  Its  Women’s  Club  is  affiliated  with  the 
Federation  of  Women’s  Clubs.  There  are  two  dailies  and 
an  attractive  public  library  built  of  logs,  besides  a fire 
department  and  telephone  exchange.  More  than  half 
a dozen  denominations  have  churches  here. 

The  most  picturesque  feature  of  Fairbanks  is  the  homes 
of  the  people.  The  residences  are  chiefly  log  cabins, 
ranging  in  size  from  two-room  huts  to  some  mansions  of  a 

141 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


dozen  or  more  rooms.  The  cabins  are  built  of  cypress  and 
birch  logs,  with  the  bark  on  or  off  at  the  taste  of  the 
builder.  The  logs  are  chinked  with  Arctic  moss,  and 
their  corners  are  joined,  now  in  notched  shape,  now 
dovetailed,  and  now  with  the  logs  sticking  out  like  a doll 
house  built  of  corn  cobs.  Nearly  every  home  has  its 
porch  and  on  the  smaller  ones  the  low  ridge  roofs  extend 
far  out  at  the  front  to  shade  the  lounging  place  of  the 
family  during  the  hot  summer  days.  Some  of  the  houses 
are  half  log  and  half  frame.  Some  are  roofed  with  boards, 
some  with  galvanized  iron  painted  green,  and  others  with 
poles  covered  with  earth.  The  latter  have  grass  and 
flowers  growing  upon  them.  Most  of  the  houses  have 
cellars  and  all  have  their  walls  set  deep  in  the  ground  and 
banked  up  for  warmth.  In  the  larger  houses  there  are 
big  living  rooms  with  wide  windows  artistically  set. 

Most  of  the  log  cabins  have  pretty  green  lawns  with 
beds  of  beautiful  flowers.  All  have  gardens  and  nearly 
every  one  has  its  patch  of  potatoes  and  turnips.  Hedges 
of  sweet  peas  the  height  of  a man  may  wall  one  side  of  a 
garden  and  great  beds  of  poppies  line  the  walks  through 
the  centre.  I have  never  seen  anywhere  flowers  so  large, 
so  fresh,  and  of  such  a velvety  texture;  and  I may  add  that 
I have  never  visited  any  town  where  the  people  seemed 
to  love  flowers  so  much  and  where  they  have  so  many  for 
themselves  and  their  friends. 

There  is  a friendly  strife  between  families  as  to  which 
shall  have  the  best  and  earliest  vegetables.  1 called  upon 
a lady  last  night  who  showed  me  one  of  her  hothouse  toma- 
toes weighing  three  pounds,  and  a cauliflower  from  her  gar- 
den with  a head  as  big  around  as  the  largest  dinner  plate. 
She  had  lettuce  as  fine  as  any  raised  in  the  South  and  rows 

142 


FAIRBANKS,  THE  CHICAGO  OF  ALASKA 


of  peas  six  feet  high,  with  pods  as  big  around  as  a man’s 
thumb.  This  woman  has  the  earliest  potatoes  in  Fair- 
banks by  starting  them  in  boxes  of  earth  in  her  kitchen 
a week  or  so  before  the  frost  goes  out  of  the  ground. 

To  get  some  idea  of  the  business  of  Fairbanks  and 
interior  Alaska,  I visited  to-day  the  headquarters  of  the 
Northern  Commercial  Company  at  Fairbanks.  This 
company  is  the  offspring  of  the  Alaska  Commercial 
Company,  which  leased  the  seal  islands  about  a year 
after  we  bought  the  territory  and  established  a general 
fur-trading  business  something  like  that  of  the  Hudson’s 
Bay  Company.  It  made  such  vast  sums  dealing  in 
sealskins  that  the  royalties  paid  to  our  Government  were 
soon  more  than  the  first  cost  of  the  territory.  The 
Alaska  company  originated  and  developed  the  transporta- 
tion of  Alaska,  and  had  its  stores  and  trading  posts  not 
only  in  the  islands  of  the  Southeast,  the  Aleutians,  the 
southern  coast  of  the  mainland,  and  in  Bering  Sea,  but 
also  at  St.  Michael,  at  the  mouth  of  the  Yukon,  and  all 
along  that  river  to  the  boundary  of  Canada. 

When  the  Alaska  Commercial  Company  dissolved,  the 
Northern  Commercial  Company  took  over  its  business  in 
interior  Alaska  and  now  has  a number  of  stores  in  the 
basins  of  the  Yukon  and  the  Kuskokwim,  serving  the 
mining  camps  and  fur-trading  stations.  It  supplies  many 
of  the  roadhouses,  and  does  a wholesale  and  retail  busi- 
ness over  a territory  perhaps  one  tenth  as  large  as  the 
United  States.  The  company  has  a capital  of  three  mil- 
lion five  hundred  thousand  dollars,  the  stock  being  owned 
mostly  in  San  Francisco  and  England. 

There  are  firms  outside  the  Northern  Commercial  Com- 
pany that  do  a large  business,  but  none  that  covers  such 

1 4 3 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 

a great  area  and  handles  everything  needed  by  the  people. 
Their  establishment  here  at  Fairbanks,  for  instance,  con- 
sists of  stores,  warehouses,  and  cellars,  with  a floor  space  of 
six  or  eight  acres,  machine  shops  and  foundries,  cold 
storage  and  warm  storage  plants,  branches  devoted  to 
wholesale  and  retail,  as  well  as  waterworks,  steam  heat  and 
electric  plants. 

The  mercantile  department  has  now  on  hand  more  than 
a million  dollars’  worth  of  groceries,  provisions,  and  other 
supplies,  and  its  retail  section  is  like  a small  department 
store  in  the  States. 

Goods  have  to  be  bought  in  large  quantities,  for  the 
country  is  locked  in  ice  for  seven  months  of  the  year. 
With  the  use  of  the  new  railway  these  stocks  will  not  need 
to  be  so  large.  Less  capital  will  be  tied  up  in  goods 
and  merchants  should  be  able  to  sell  at  somewhat  lower 
prices.  In  one  of  the  cellars  I saw  ten  thousand  cans  of 
condensed  milk,  condensed  cream,  and  other  canned  goods, 
including  egg  powder,  from  which  camp  cooks,  I was  told, 
make  up  omelettes  quite  as  good  as  from  ranch  eggs. 
1 saw  thousands  of  eggs  in  the  shell  which  had  been  packed 
in  the  States,  carried  one  thousand  miles  to  Skagway,  and 
after  crossing  the  mountains,  had  come  down  the  Yukon. 
I saw  canned  potatoes  and  canned  corn.  The  potatoes 
are  cooked  whole  and  put  up  in  cans,  in  which  shape  they 
realize  as  much  as  forty  or  fifty  dollars  a bushel.  Some 
of  the  corn  is  canned  in  the  ear,  and  had  only  to  be  warmed 
to  give  the  Alaskan  miner  corn  on  the  cob  in  the  heart  of 
the  winter. 

Goods  have  to  be  carefully  packed  for  the  Alaskan  trade. 
They  must  stand  the  changes  of  climate,  the  heat  of  the 
summer,  and  the  cold  of  the  winter.  Perishable  pro- 

144 


FAIRBANKS,  THE  CHICAGO  OF  ALASKA 


visions  are  coated  with  gelatine.  Hams,  for  instance, 
must  be  so  protected  that  they  will  not  be  ruined  if 
dropped  in  the  snow  or  into  a river.  Each  ham  is  sewed 
up  in  canvas,  which  is  dipped  in  a gelatine  to  give  it  a 
gluelike  coating  and  make  it  airtight.  Cheese  is  packed 
the  same  way. 

The  company  keeps  billiard  and  pool  tables  ready  for 
shipment.  It  has  wagons  and  sleds,  some  of  the  latter 
with  a capacity  for  a ten-ton  load.  It  has  also  dog  sleds, 
and  dog  harness  with  tugs,  collars,  and  back  straps.  The 
average  dog  sled  is  ten  dollars.  Another  article  of  mer- 
chandise is  dog  feed,  a great  deal  of  which  is  tallow.  The 
huskies  are  fed  once  a day  when  on  the  trail,  and  that  at 
nightfall.  Their  usual  meal  is  dried  salmon  and  rice 
cooked  with  tallow.  The  Northern  Commercial  Com- 
pany will  sell  about  a hundred  thousand  pounds  of  tallow 
next  winter. 

In  the  hardware  department  are  all  kinds  of  ma- 
chinery and  parts.  There  are  great  bales  of  wire  cable 
for  hoisting  the  earth  from  the  mines,  steam  engines,  air 
compressors,  and  steam  points  for  thawing  the  ground. 
There  are  bales  of  wire  for  chicken  yards  and  fox  farms. 
There  is  wire  netting  for  fish  wheels  and  some  of  fine  mesh 
for  the  gold  reduction  plants.  There  are  all  sorts  of 
farm  machinery,  ploughs,  reapers,  and  mowers,  as  well  as 
plumbing  supplies,  window  sashes,  and  porcelain  bath- 
tubs. 

The  Northern  Commercial  Company  runs  a steam  plant 
which  heats  the  business  section  of  Fairbanks.  It  has  a 
central  station  with  pipes  to  all  the  buildings,  including 
many  private  homes  in  an  area  of  several  blocks.  The 
plant  furnishes  heat  to  its  customers  at  so  much  a month 

145 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


throughout  the  year.  It  keeps  the  stores  and  the  houses 
warm  even  when  the  thermometer  registers  sixty  or  sev- 
enty below  zero.  The  steam  pipes  run  side  by  side  with 
the  water  pipes,  so  that  the  latter  are  kept  from  freezing 
in  the  winter. 

Some  of  the  smaller  merchants  denounce  the  company 
as  a monopoly.  There  is  probably  considerable  truth  in 
the  statement ; but  any  one  can  import  goods  and  there  are 
several  firms  here  doing  a very  large  business  for  this  part 
of  the  world.  One  is  E.  R.  Peoples,  Incorporated,  and 
another  is  the  Dominion  Commercial  Company,  both  of 
which  have  their  headquarters  at  Fairbanks  and  sell  to 
the  mining  camps  within  a radius  of  a hundred  miles  or 
so. 

Goods  are  sent  by  small  steamers  far  up  the  tributaries 
of  the  Yukon.  One  of  the  Far  North  trading  stations  is 
at  Betties,  the  head  of  steamship  navigation  on  the 
Koyukuk  River.  From  Betties  supplies  are  carried  some- 
thing like  fifty  miles  across  country  to  placer  mines. 

Another  trading  station  is  Wiseman,  about  ninety  miles 
from  Betties.  It  is  also  on  the  Koyukuk,  but  the  stream 
is  so  shallow  that  the  goods  are  hauled  there  on  barges 
drawn  by  horses.  As  the  freight  rate  is  a dollar  and  forty 
cents  a ton,  the  prices  at  Wiseman  are  very  high.  Most 
of  the  merchandise  is  paid  for  in  gold  dust,  the  store- 
keeper weighing  out  the  right  amount  from  a miner’s  poke. 

Most  of  the  business  of  Alaska  is  done  upon  credit  and 
any  one  who  would  sell  much  has  to  give  time.  The 
people  here  tell  me  that  the  merchants  are  liberal  in  their 
advances  to  miners.  I talked  last  night  with  a commercial 
traveller  who  started  to  Fairbanks  with  six  horses  freight- 
ing goods  in  over  the  trail.  A cold  snap  caught  him  on 

146 


FAIRBANKS,  THE  CHICAGO  OF  ALASKA 


the  way  and  his  horses  died.  He  arrived  in  Fairbanks 
with  only  enough  for  a mining  outfit,  but  the  store- 
keeper gave  him  credit  and  in  company  with  a partner 
he  leased  a claim  on  one  of  the  creeks  for  twenty-five  per 
cent,  of  the  profits.  At  the  end  of  the  year  he  was  two 
thousand  dollars  in  debt.  The  next  winter  he  and  his 
partner  had  no  money  to  pay  wages,  but  by  their  own 
work  they  got  out  three  thousand  dollars’  worth  of  pay 
dirt.  They  then  paid  up  their  debts  and  within  the 
next  year  or  so  cleaned  up  thirty  thousand  dollars  out  of 
the  claim. 

Indeed,  few  people  realize  the  extent  and  possibilities 
of  our  Alaskan  trade.  The  commerce  in  this  territory  in 
a typical  year  was  one  hundred  and  ten  million  dollars.  1 1 
was  nearly  as  great  as  our  trade  with  Spain  or  Sweden, 
and  was  one  fifth  as  large  as  our  total  trade  with  all  South 
America.  The  exports  were  twice  the  value  of  the  im- 
ports. In  proportion  to  the  white  population,  the  trade 
was  greater  than  that  of  any  other  country  of  the 
world.  The  per-capita  commerce  was  about  twenty- 
two  hundred  dollars,  while  that  of  Great  Britain  was 
only  two  hundred  and  seventy-nine  dollars.  This  means 
that  the  trade  of  Alaska  was,  on  the  average,  for  every 
man,  woman,  and  child,  almost  eight  times  as  great  as 
that  for  every  man,  woman,  and  child  in  Great  Britain. 

If  this  is  true  when  the  land  is  a wild  waste,  so  covered 
with  moss  and  other  vegetation  that  only  about  one  third 
of  it  has  had  even  a general  survey,  and  not  one  acre  in 
a thousand  has  been  brought  into  cultivation,  what  may 
we  not  expect  of  the  country  with  the  railroad  and  with 
the  developments  of  the  future? 


147 


CHAPTER  XVIII 


HOMESTEADING  UNDER  THE  ARCTIC  CIRCLE 

THE  Tanana  valley  has  the  largest  body  of  good 
soil  in  Alaska.  Much  of  the  land  is  in  what  is 
known  as  the  Tanana  bottom,  a tract  about 
two  hundred  miles  long  and,  in  places,  seventy 
miles  wide.  Altogether  it  is  about  as  big  as  the  state  of 
New  Jersey,  and  its  cultivable  area  is  one  fifth  as  large 
as  Ohio.  I motored  to-day  through  a rolling  region  as 
beautiful  as  the  foothills  of  the  Alleghanies.  It  was  dif- 
ficult to  realize  that  we  were  just  below  the  Arctic  Circle. 
The  thermometer  was  at  ninety  degrees  in  the  shade. 
There  was  no  snow  on  the  tops  of  the  mountains,  and  the 
hills  and  valleys  were  covered  with  green.  At  times  we 
passed  through  plains  thick  with  wild  flowers.  In  some 
places  the  ground  was  covered  with  blueberry  bushes, 
their  fruit  as  large  as  cherries  and  loaded  with  juice.  Now 
we  passed  through  forests  of  birch,  spruce,  and  cotton- 
wood. Where  the  woods  had  been  cut  or  burned  away 
there  were  vast  expanses  of  flaming  pink  flowers  as  high 
as  the  wheels  of  the  car,  and  everywhere  the  roadside  was 
hedged  with  grass  and  red-top  that  reached  to  the  hubs. 
Now  and  then  we  bumped  over  corduroy,  our  automobile 
bouncing  high  under  the  fast  driving  of  the  Jehu  of  this 
northern  frontier. 

We  passed  many  small  farms  cut  out  of  the  woods,  with 
oat-hay  and  potatoes  in  blossom.  We  saw  cattle  grazing, 

148 


The  homesteader  along  the  Tanana  River  must  literally  chop  his  farm 
out  of  the  woods.  Pulling  stumps  is  easier  than  in  the  States,  as  the 
glacial  ice-bed  prevents  tree  roots  from  going  very  deep.  - 


Pitching  hay  in  the  interior  farm  lands  of  Alaska  is  just  as  hot  work  as  in 
the  fields  of  Virginia.  Alfalfa  is  successfully  grown,  even  where  the  ice- 
bed  is  not  far  below  the  surface. 


HOMESTEADING  UNDER  THE  ARCTIC  CIRCLE 


and  by  and  by  came  to  the  Government’s  experiment  farm 
in  the  heart  of  the  Tanana  valley,  about  four  miles  from 
Fairbanks.  The  farm  covers  twelve  hundred  and  eighty 
acres  of  gently  sloping  hillsides  and  bottom  land.  At  one 
end  of  the  farm  stands  the  new  Alaska  Agricultural 
College,  commanding  magnificent  views  for  fifty  miles 
up  and  down  the  Tanana  valley,  taking  in  Fairbanks 
and  the  blue  mountains  far  off  in  the  distance.  On  a 
bright  day  Mount  McKinley,  the  tallest  peak  on  the 
North  American  continent,  is  visible.  The  campus 
includes  a forest  of  silvery  birch  trees  as  straight  as 
arrows. 

As  we  rode  by  the  farm  we  could  see  men  cutting  trees 
and  burning  brush.  A little  farther  on  we  came  to  grain 
fields,  not  little  patches,  but  fields  that  would  be  large  on 
any  Virginia  farm.  We  passed  tracts  of  oats  ready  for 
reaping  and  rode  through  barley  four  feet  high.  Above 
these  on  the  hillside  were  long  strips  of  Siberian  wheat 
ripening  side  by  side  with  strips  of  experimental  grains 
of  one  kind  and  another. 

The  work  of  these  experiment  stations  is  not  like  that  of 
the  ordinary  farm.  Crops  are  not  raised  to  be  sold,  al- 
though enough  is  produced  to  feed  the  stock  and  there  is 
sometimes  a surplus.  The  business  of  Uncle  Sam’s  agri- 
cultural experts  here  in  Alaska  is  to  test  out  grains  and 
plants  and  find  those  best  adapted  to  the  country.  The 
old  patriarch’s  agents  have  scoured  northern  China,  the 
Desert  of  Gobi,  and  the  highlands  of  Pamir,  and  have 
ransacked  the  Frigid  Zone,  looking  for  seeds  adapted  to 
the  territory.  They  have  seeds  from  Abyssinia  and 
samples  of  grains  from  the  Atlas  Mountains  of  North 
Africa  and  there  are  no  end  of  plants  that  have  come 

'49 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


from  Finland  and  Norway,  as  well  as  from  northern  United 
States  and  Canada. 

It  has  been  found  that  potatoes  do  well  in  this  part  of 
Alaska.  Two  hundred  bushels  per  acre  have  been  grown, 
and  the  valley  is  now  raising  about  all  that  is  needed  for 
the  towns  and  the  camps.  One  year  the  station  sold 
the  yield  of  five  acres  for  three  thousand  five  hundred 
dollars,  and  it  has  records  of  three  acres  which  have  pro- 
duced a value  of  from  five  hundred  dollars  to  six  hundred 
dollars  per  acre  for  years  in  succession.  Some  claim  the 
tubers  lack  the  mealiness  of  those  of  the  Rocky  Moun- 
tains, but  those  I have  had  have  been  dry  and  delicious. 

The  home  of  the  station  farmer  is  a one-story  cottage 
surrounded  by  beautiful  flowers.  Near  the  cottage  is  a 
hothouse  where  tomatoes  and  cucumbers  are  grown,  and 
across  the  way  are  barns  and  outhouses  where  grain-hay 
is  stored  for  the  winter.  There  is  also  a root  cellar  in  the 
side  of  a hill  not  far  from  the  barn,  where  the  potatoes  and 
other  root  crops  are  stored  as  soon  as  they  are  dug,  which 
is  some  time  in  August.  Just  opposite  the  root  cellar  and 
a little  below  it  is  a large  turnip  patch.  I climbed  the 
fence  and  pulled  up  a turnip  which  was  eight  inches  thick; 
by  actual  measurement  the  leaves  were  seventeen  inches 
long. 

The  crops  at  the  Fairbanks  farm  are  similar  to  those 
grown  at  the  Government’s  experiment  station  at  Ram- 
part right  under  the  Arctic  Circle  where  1 stopped  for 
awhile  on  my  way  down  the  Yukon  to  Tanana.  One  of 
the  things  that  interested  me  there  was  the  way  potatoes 
are  sprouted.  They  are  often  started  in  greenhouses  or 
cold  frames.  About  four  weeks  before  planting  they  are  put 
in  trays  and  lightly  covered  with  soil.  Sprouts  come  out 

150 


HOMESTEADING  UNDER  THE  ARCTIC  CIRCLE 


to  the  length  of  from  a half  inch  to  three  inches.  When 
they  are  planted  outdoors  they  are  so  set  that  the  sprouts 
just  reach  the  surface.  The  tubers  given  such  a start 
indoors  more  than  double  the  yield  of  potatoes  planted  in 
the  ordinary  way. 

Another  crop  which  has  turned  out  well  at  Rampart  is 
a yellow-flowered  alfalfa  imported  from  Siberia.  In  the 
United  States  alfalfa  roots  sometimes  go  down  many  feet 
into  the  soil.  Here  in  Alaska  when  the  alfalfa  roots  strike 
the  glacial  ice  bed  the  ends  freeze  off  but  the  roots  keep 
spreading  out  above  the  ice  stratum. 

Speaking  of  Rampart,  I am  reminded  that  I saw  there 
Rex  Beach’s  deserted  cabin.  Once  it  was  in  the  midst 
of  the  seething  excitement  of  a log  cabin  metropolis  of  the 
gold  fields.  Then  the  placer  deposits  played  out  and  to- 
day the  place  is  practically  deserted.  Many  of  its  houses 
have  been  cut  up  for  firewood  and  others  are  falling  in 
ruins.  Beach’s  hut  is  a one-story  shack  made  of  slabs 
and  boards.  Over  the  rude  door  hangs  a pair  of  white 
caribou  horns  from  a beast  that  may  have  been  shot  by  the 
novelist.  There  is  a pile  of  wood  outside  the  cabin, 
lying  just  as  it  was  when  the  last  occupant  left. 

I am  told  that  Rex  Beach  came  here  to  mine  gold.  He 
failed  to  find  the  precious  metal  but  he  unearthed  the 
lode  of  human-interest  stories  and  tales  of  adventure  that 
have  delighted  us  all.  The  history  of  his  stay  at  Ram- 
part is  prosaic.  The  only  story  I picked  up  relates  to  an 
Indian  woman  who,  according  to  the  custom  of  the 
country,  had  three  straight  blue  lines  tattooed  in  ink  on 
her  chin.  Rex  Beach  had  bought  some  fish  of  the  squaw 
and  wanted  to  find  her  to  get  another  supply.  Asked  to 
describe  her,  he  said: 

1 5 1 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


“ I don’t  know  her  name,  but  she  carried  her  head  in  the 
air.  She  is  short  and  dirty  and  has  her  house  number 
marked  on  her  chin.  It  is  III.” 

But  to  return  to  Fairbanks.  We  left  the  experiment 
farm  and  visited  some  of  the  homesteads  near  by.  The 
first  was  owned  by  a man  named  Young,  who  came  to 
Alaska  some  ten  or  twelve  years  ago.  He  took  up  three 
hundred  and  twenty  acres  of  government  land,  a large 
part  of  which  is  now  under  cultivation.  He  is  raising 
oat-hay  and  potatoes;  he  has  also  a big  greenhouse 
where  he  grows  tomatoes  and  other  vegetables  for  the 
mining  camps  and  the  town.  Mr.  Young  was  not  at 
home  when  we  called,  but  Mrs.  Young  showed  us  about. 
As  we  looked  over  the  farm  I asked  her  how  she  liked 
living  in  this  far-off  Alaska.  She  replied  that  she  had 
been  a little  dissatisfied  until  she  had  gone  “outside”  last 
summer,  but  that  since  she  returned  she  had  had  no 
desire  to  go  out  again. 

“This  country  is  my  home,”  she  said,  “and  a mighty 
good  home  it  is.  You  can  see  what  the  summer  is  like. 
We  are  perfectly  comfortable  during  the  winter.  We 
always  have  plenty  to  eat,  we  get  high  prices  for  all  that 
we  sell,  and  we  are  farther  ahead  every  year.” 

At  that  moment  we  were  looking  over  the  stock  in  the 
barnyard,  which  included  two  big  sows,  each  of  which 
had  eight  or  ten  little  month-old  pigs  running  with  her. 
Mrs.  Young  pointed  to  them,  saying,  “We  sold  a pair  of 
those  pigs  yesterday  for  twenty  dollars.  That  will  give 
you  some  idea  of  what  things  will  bring  in  this  country.” 
Our  next  visit  was  to  the  dairy  farm  belonging  to  a Mr. 
Hinckley,  which  supplies  much  of  the  milk  and  cream 
consumed  in  Fairbanks.  Mr.  Hinckley  also  sells  butter, 

152 


HOMESTEADING  UNDER  THE  ARCTIC  CIRCLE 


buttermilk,  and  cottage  cheese.  He  has  twenty  cows 
which  average  three  or  four  gallons  of  milk  each  twenty- 
four  hours.  They  are  what  we  would  call  in  the  States 
good  ordinary  stock. 

The  dairyman  has  not  bought  any  hay  for  several 
years,  but  relies  on  the  native  grass  and  his  oat-hay  for  his 
stock.  He  says  the  oat-hay  is  quite  as  good  as  timothy, 
and  very  much  crisper. 

Before  leaving  1 pulled  up  a handful  of  the  young  oats 
growing  outside  the  barn  and  measured  the  stalks.  They 
were  eighteen  inches  long,  though  the  oats  had  been 
planted  only  three  weeks  before. 

We  went  on  to  visit  a three-hundred-and-twenty-acre 
truck  farm  on  the  very  edge  of  Fairbanks.  This  is  a 
homestead  taken  up  fifteen  years  ago  by  Stacia  Rickert, 
the  wife  of  a business  man  of  Fairbanks.  Mr.  Rickert 
has  built  here  a very  pretty  cabin  surrounded  by  flowers, 
and  his  home  is  as  well  furnished  and  as  comfortable  as 
that  of  any  well-to-do  farmer  of  the  States.  He  has 
cleared  about  one  fourth  of  the  land,  and  the  farm  is  one 
of  the  show  places  of  Alaska.  The  ground  is  as  flat  as  a 
floor  and  as  green  as  the  valley  of  the  Nile.  He  is  now 
cutting  oat-hay,  of  which  he  has  many  acres.  He  has 
also  great  fields  of  barley  and  potatoes,  the  latter  in  full 
blossom. 

The  Rickert  farm  supplies  a great  part  of  Fairbanks  and 
ships  vegetables  to  the  towns  and  the  mining  camps  for 
miles  around.  It  sends  green  stuff  to  Hot  Springs  and 
Fort  Gibbon  as  well  as  to  the  gold  mines  of  the  Iditarod 
and  Ruby. 

The  gardens  of  this  farm  cover  twenty  or  thirty  acres. 
As  we  walked  through  them  I asked  about  the  crops,  and 

•53 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


was  told  that  there  were  in  the  ground  twenty  thousand 
cabbages,  thirty  thousand  stalks  of  celery,  and  some  acres 
of  head  lettuce.  The  celery,  which  is  especially  fine, 
grows  to  a height  of  four  feet.  Some  of  it  was  sent  to 
Montana  a few  years  ago  to  show  what  Alaska  could  do, 
and  President  Taft  sampled  it  during  his  trip  through 
that  state.  He  declared  it  the  finest  he  had  ever  tasted. 
As  we  went  through  one  of  the  fields  1 pulled  up  a cabbage 
and  put  it  on  the  scales  in  the  greenhouse.  It  weighed 
twenty-six  pounds. 

There  are  several  hothouses  each  devoted  to  a different 
crop.  There  is  one  which  is  one  hundred  and  twenty 
feet  long  that  grows  melons  only,  including  watermelons, 
casabas,  and  cantaloupes.  The  cantaloupes  sell  for  a 
dollar  a pound,  and  some  of  them  bring  four  or  five  dollars. 
The  vines  are  trained  upon  wires  running  along  under  the 
glass  and  from  the  beds  up  to  the  roof.  From  these  wires 
the  melons  hang  down,  the  heavier  ones  being  supported 
by  slings  to  prevent  their  breaking  the  vines.  In  other 
hothouses  tomatoes,  peppers,  and  cucumbers  are  grown. 

Farming  conditions  are  altogether  different  from  those 
of  most  parts  of  the  United  States.  Fairbanks  is  only 
about  one  hundred  miles  south  of  the  Arctic  Circle,  and  the 
growing  season  is  short,  ranging  from  three  to  four 
months,  and  extending  in  favourable  seasons  perhaps  a 
half  month  longer.  The  last  spring  frosts  occur  about 
the  middle  of  May,  and  frosts  begin  again  during  the 
latter  part  of  August  or  the  first  of  September.  The 
long  summer  sunlight  makes  the  crops  grow  very  fast, 
however. 

This  part  of  Alaska  is  a region  of  scanty  rainfall. 
Heavy  showers  are  almost  unknown;  but  it  drizzles  often 

154 


HOMESTEADING  UNDER  THE  ARCTIC  CIRCLE 


in  summer  and  much  of  the  rain  is  during  the  growing 
season.  The  yearly  average  is  about  ten  or  twelve  inches 
of  water,  including  the  snow  of  the  winter.  Besides  the 
rainfall,  there  is  the  moisture  from  the  layer  of  perpetual 
ice  below  the  surface  of  the  ground. 


*55 


CHAPTER  XIX 


THAWING  FORTUNES  OUT  OF  THE  ICE 

THE  country  surrounding  Fairbanks  is  the  richest 
of  the  gold-bearing  regions  of  Alaska.  Since 
gold  mining  began  there  in  1886  the  Yukon 
Basin  has  produced  over  one  hundred  and  thirty 
millions  of  dollars’  worth  of  gold,  about  eighty  millions  of 
which  came  from  the  Fairbanks  district.  This  is  one 
fourth  of  the  value  of  all  the  gold  taken  out  of  Alaska. 
When  one  considers  the  seven  million  the  United  States 
paid  for  the  territory,  three  hundred  and  twenty  million 
dollars  in  gold  output  in  something  like  forty  years  seems 
a pretty  fair  return  on  our  investment. 

All  the  gold  of  the  Fairbanks  district  has  been  washed 
from  creeks  and  their  valleys.  The  valleys  are  streaked 
with  a bed  rock  which  lies  far  down  under  the  surface. 
The  gold-bearing  stratum  is  five  or  six  feet  in  thickness  and 
has  an  average  value  of  more  than  five  dollars  per  cubic 
yard.  Imagine  a strip  of  land  from  New  York  to  Phila- 
delphia, five  times  as  wide  as  the  ordinary  road,  and 
worth  one  and  one  third  million  dollars  per  mile,  and  you 
will  have  some  idea  of  the  gold-bearing  earth  of  this  land 
of  wealth. 

The  miners  are  still  working  on  the  oldest  of  the  creeks, 
although  in  places  these  are  almost  deserted.  When  I 
visited  the  creeks  yesterday  I went  by  log  hotels  and 
dance  halls,  now  empty  and  silent ; and  passed  great  masses 

156 


The  chinked  log  roadhouse  is  still  a feature  of  travel  in  the  Fairbanks 
district,  but  many  of  the  rude  hotels  are  deserted  and  the  “dance  hall 
ladies’’  are  gone. 


The  prospector’s  supplies  and  equipment  may  weigh  a ton,  and  though 
a dog  can  pull  more  than  a man  can  over  the  snow,  the  “musher’’  must 
sometimes  help  out  even  the  stoutest-hearted  team. 


Rex  Beach  failed  to  find  the  gold  he  sought  in  Alaska,  but  he  unearthed 
the  lode  of  human  interest  stories  that  have  delighted  so  many.  His 
cabin  at  Rampart  is  deserted  and  falling  in  ruins. 


This  “sourdough”  miner  is  coming  to  town  for  grub.  Another  summer 
service  the  dog  renders  is  to  help  pull  his  master’s  boat  over  the  gravel 
bars  of  shallow  streams. 


THAWING  FORTUNES  OUT  OF  THE  ICE 


of  gravel,  the  monuments  of  the  work  of  the  past.  Leav- 
ing Fairbanks,  we  motored  up  one  stream  and  down  an- 
other, passing  pile  after  pile  of  these  tailings.  We  went 
through  villages,  which  were  once  almost  cities,  now 
going  to  ruin,  and  after  traversing  the  valleys  of  Fox 
Creek,  Pedro  Creek,  Engineer  Creek,  Queenie  Creek, 
Esther  Creek,  and  other  creeks  named  after  the  “dance 
ladies’’  of  early  days,  stopped  for  the  night  at  Chatanika 
on  Cleary,  one  of  the  richest  creeks  of  the  Fairbanks  dis- 
trict. 

I am  told  there  are  places  along  Cleary  where  every 
foot  of  ground  is  worth  twenty-five  hundred  dollars. 
Cleary  has  produced  about  twenty-four  million  dollars, 
worth  of  gold,  and  it  is  estimated  that  there  is  more 
gold  in  the  ground  than  has  yet  been  taken  out.  They 
are  now  working  over  some  of  the  claims  for  a second 
time  and,  with  cheap  coal,  better  transportation,  and 
modern  dredging  machinery,  most  of  it  will  be  handled 
again.  I heard  one  miner  discussing  the  possibilities  of 
his  men’s  striking  for  higher  wages.  “They  can  strike 
if  they  want  to,”  said  he,  “ but  I can  make  a living  working 
over  my  dump  heap.  I can  take  a rocker  and  wash  out 
fifteen  dollars  any  day  in  the  week.  ” 

Nearly  all  of  the  gold  taken  out  of  the  ground  about 
Fairbanks  has  been  placer  gold.  This  means  it  is  made  up 
of  gold  dust  and  nuggets  scattered  through  the  earth  and 
gravel,  so  that  it  has  only  to  be  washed  to  get  the  gold 
out.  Of  quartz  gold,  this  region  has  as  yet  produced 
little,  although  several  quartz  mines  are  now  working,  and 
more  will  be  opened  with  the  coming  of  cheaper  fuel  from 
the  Nenana  coalfields. 

Placer  mining  in  Alaska  is  far  different  from  that  of  the 

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ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


States.  In  California  and  in  the  Rockies  all  that  a miner 
needed  to  start  business  was  a pick,  a shovel,  and  a pan 
to  wash  out  the  gold.  He  might  add  a rocker  or  some 
other  rude  pieces  of  machinery,  but,  all  told,  the  outfit 
cost  little.  The  free  gold  lay  on  the  top  of  the  ground, 
or  on  the  banks  and  in  the  beds  of  the  creeks,  and  it  was 
comparatively  easy  to  find  and  wash  it  out.  Here  about 
Fairbanks  more  than  eighty  per  cent,  of  the  productive  de- 
posits lie  at  from  forty  to  two  hundred  and  sixty  feet 
under  ground,  and  most  of  them  are  in  valley  bottoms 
which  are  solidly  frozen  and  have  to  be  thawed  out  before 
the  gold  can  be  got  at. 

The  whole  country  is  covered  with  moss,  which  must  be 
stripped  off  to  find  what  lies  beneath.  To  test  the  ground 
the  prospector  must  go  down  to  bed  rock.  The  result 
is  that  his  outfit  is  much  more  costly  than  in  the  Rockies. 
It  should  include  a small  boiler  and  pipe  for  steam  thawing, 
rubber  hose,  steam  points,  and  steam  fittings.  He  needs 
a windlass,  a cable,  and  wooden  buckets  to  get  the  earth 
out  after  it  is  thawed,  and  if  he  expects  to  prospect  in  deep 
ground  he  should  have  a steam  engine  as  well.  There  is 
sold  here  a prospecting  outfit  which  costs  about  six 
hundred  dollars.  It  consists  of  a four-horsepower  boiler, 
a hoisting  engine,  steam  points,  pipe  and  fittings,  and 
buckets  and  cable.  The  outfit  is  compact  and  can  be 
carried  on  a dog  sled.  One  of  the  best  methods  of  pros- 
pecting is  with  drills,  but  the  freight  rates  have  been  so 
high  that  few  have  come  in.  Of  course  the  new  railway 
should  mean  lower  prices  for  the  best  drills,  which  were 
formerly  around  two  thousand  dollars. 

It  will  be  seen  that  it  costs  something  to  grub-stake  a 
man  in  Alaska.  Still,  much  grub-staking  is  done.  Out- 

158 


THAWING  FORTUNES  OUT  OF  THE  ICE 


siders  will  furnish  the  provisions  and  the  outfit  and  the 
miners  will  agree  to  prospect  and  work  for  half  what  they 
find.  Stock  in  some  of  the  mines  is  held  largely  in  the 
States,  and  there  are  many  little  claims  scattered  here 
and  there  over  the  country  that  are  kept  going  that  way. 
Most  of  these  are  honestly  managed.  Now  and  then  one  is 
not.  They  tell  a story  here  in  Fairbanks  about  a miner 
who  was  working  away  in  good  spirits  notwithstanding 
his  output,  which  was  practically  nothing.  He  had  plenty 
of  money  and  seemed  happy.  Asked  how  he  was  doing, 
he  replied: 

“Fine!  Fine!” 

“Then  you  have  reached  the  paystreak,  I suppose?” 
“Yes,  I struck  that  at  the  start.” 

“But  where  is  it?  I don’t  see  any  gold.” 

“Oh,”  was  the  reply,  “the  paystreak  is  not  here;  the 
paystreak’s  in  Chicago.” 

While  I was  at  Chatanika  I went  into  some  of  the  mines. 
In  the  Nolan  mine  we  got  into  a bucket  and  were  dropped 
down  a well  eighty-four  feet  deep.  Leaving  the  bucket, 
we  walked  through  tunnels,  stopping  now  and  then  to 
watch  the  miners  thaw  out  the  ice  layer.  The  work  is  done 
with  steam  points  or  pipes  through  which  steam  is 
driven  into  the  ice.  The  boilers  with  which  the  pipes 
are  connected  force  the  steam  through  rubber  hose  into 
the  steel  pipes.  These  end  in  points  in  which  are  small 
holes  to  let  out  the  steam.  The  pipes  are  driven  into  the 
frozen  walls  with  hammers,  working  their  way  on  inch 
by  inch  as  the  steam  thaws  out  the  ice.  1 1 melts  the  gravel 
for  several  feet  about  the  pipe.  The  thawed  stuff  can 
then  be  dug  down  and  thrown  into  wheelbarrows,  which 
carry  it  to  the  shaft  and  the  hoists. 

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ALASKA—OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


We  saw  the  gold-bearing  earth  going  out  of  the  mine  in 
the  same  bucket  in  which  we  came  down.  An  engine 
raised  the  bucket  by  a steel  cable  high  above  the  shaft, 
whence  it  slid  on  a pulley  to  the  dump  over  the  sluice 
box.  The  work  of  getting  out  the  ore  goes  on  winter  and 
summer,  but  sluicing,  or  washing  out  the  gold,  can  be  done 
only  when  the  weather  is  warm. 

We  were  fortunate  in  being  at  the  Nolan  mine  during 
one  of  its  weekly  clean-ups.  The  gold  is  washed  in  a 
trough  perhaps  a yard  wide,  a yard  high,  and  several 
hundred  feet  long.  This  sluice  box  is  made  of  rough  plank 
and  is  set  up  at  an  angle  of  fifteen  or  twenty  degrees  so 
that  it  extends  to  the  ground  from  the  high  crib  containing 
the  dump.  When  the  time  for  the  clean-up  comes,  a door 
is  opened  in  the  dump  and  the  gold-bearing  gravel  pours 
down  into  the  sluice  box.  A stream  of  water  flows  over 
it,  forcing  it  onward  and  washing  the  dirt  and  gravel  away. 
In  the  bottom  of  the  sluice  box  are  riffles  or  grates  of 
steel  which  catch  the  gold.  As  the  gold  is  heavier  than 
the  rock,  sand,  and  earth,  it  falls  into  the  riffles  while 
the  stream  washes  out  the  debris. 

At  first  the  water  came  in  a flood,  carrying  down  the 
stone,  gravel,  and  sand  with  a rush.  Five  miners,  clad 
in  rough  clothing  with  rubber  boots  to  their  thighs,  stood 
in  the  current  and  stirred  the  mass  as  the  water  poured 
down.  They  threw  out  the  big  boulders  and  pitchforked 
over  the  mortar  and  sand.  They  stopped  it  here  and  there 
with  their  shovels,  so  that  every  bit  of  gold-dust  might 
be  washed  out.  After  a time  bits  of  the  bottom  of  the 
sluice  box  were  visible.  In  some  places  the  box  had 
turned  yellow;  the  gold  dust  had  piled  up  and  coated  the 
boards.  The  riffles  became  filled  with  black  sand  mixed 

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THAWING  FORTUNES  OUT  OF  THE  ICE 


with  the  yellow  and  now  and  then  a small  nugget  was  to 
be  seen.  ^The  riffles  were  lifted  out  and  the  black  sand 
containing  the  gold  was  carefully  washed  over. 

The  water  now  flowed  slowly  and  the  men  agitated  it 
with  brushes  of  seaweed  about  the  size  of  a whisk-broom. 
With  these  they  separated  most  of  the  sand  from  the  dust 
and  the  yellow  flour  and  grains  were  caught  in  a scoop  and 
thrown  into  a pan.  It  covered  the  bottom  of  the  pan  like 
a coarse  yellow  cornmeal. 

After  getting  the  gold  out  of  the  box  we  took  some 
of  it  into  the  office  cabin  near  by  and  dried  it  over  a fire. 
It  was  then  tossed  up  by  the  miners  to  blow  out  the 
bits  of  sand  that  were  left.  They  threw  the  gold  into 
the  air  much  as  you  throw  screenings  to  chickens,  blow- 
ing the  black  sand  away  and  catching  every  bit  of  the 
gold  in  the  pan.  The  clean-up  of  this  week  amounted  to 
about  three  quarts  of  gold.  It  was  worth  over  four 
thousand  dollars  and  the  gold  contents  averaged  seventeen 
dollars  per  ounce.  This  was  the  clean-up  of  a small 
mine.  Larger  clean-ups  sometimes  run  into  the  tens  of 
thousands  of  dollars. 


CHAPTER  XX 


STORIES  OF  GOLD  AND  GOLD  MINERS 

HOW  would  you  like  to  stub  your  toe  on  a gold 
mine?  That  is  how  the  Rhoads-Hall  quartz 
mine  in  Bedrock  Creek  valley  near  Fairbanks 
was  discovered. 

The  mine  has  now  more  than  a mile  of  underground 
workings,  and  has  netted  its  owners  over  two  hundred 
thousand  dollars.  The  discoverer  was  L.  B.  Rhoads,  a 
prospector  who  was  mushing  over  the  trail.  He  had  made 
some  money  placer  mining,  but  fortune  had  gone  against 
him  and  he  turned  his  attention  to  quartz.  On  his  way 
down  the  hill  to  the  Bedrock  Creek  valley  he  stubbed  his 
toe  and  fell  headlong.  As  he  got  up  he  looked  for  the 
cause  of  his  stumbling,  and  found  it  was  a rock  speckled 
with  coarse  yellow  bits  of  gold.  He  marked  the  spot, 
got  an  outfit,  and  dug  down  until  he  discovered  a rich 
vein  of  quartz.  He  staked  out  a claim  and  thawed  a shaft 
to  the  fifty-foot  level,  melting  his  way  through  with  wood 
fires.  Every  week  he  crushed  enough  of  the  best  rock  to 
give  him  gold  for  his  supplies  for  the  week  to  come.  In 
the  winter  he  worked  underground.  The  next  spring 
he  tunnelled  in  on  the  vein;  and,  to  make  a long  story 
short,  he  finally  established  a mill  of  five  stamps,  out  of 
which  he  and  his  brother-in-law,  Hall,  have  already 
cleared  almost  a quarter  of  a million  dollars. 

Travelling  through  a gold  country  like  this  makes  one 


102 


STORIES  OF  GOLD  AND  GOLD  MINERS 


covetous.  Everyone  thinks  gold,  talks  gold,  and,  con- 
sidering the  prices  at  the  restaurants,  ! might  almost  say 
eats  and  drinks  gold.  One  sees  so  much  gold  in  the  mines 
and  the  banks  that  he  feels  like  the  beggar  boy  with  his 
nose  flattened  against  the  glass  window  of  the  candy  store. 
There  is  plenty  to  be  had  were  it  not  for  the  barrier 
between  him  and  the  taking.  At  the  clean-ups  of  the 
camps  I have  handled  gold  nuggets  as  one  handles  shelled 
corn,  and  at  the  assay  offices  1 have  held  up  ten  thousand 
dollars’  worth  of  pure  gold  in  one  brick.  At  Dawson  I saw 
two  hundred  thousand  dollars’  worth  of  bricks  wheeled 
about  on  a truck  such  as  you  find  at  a country  railroad 
station.  The  gold  bricks  were  heavy  and  worth  from 
fifteen  thousand  dollars  to  thirty  thousand  dollars  apiece. 
At  the  same  place  I saw  a ton  of  amalgam,  consisting  of 
quicksilver  mixed  with  gold,  ready  to  be  shipped  out  to  be 
reduced  to  gold  bullion. 

I have  met  at  Fairbanks  a man  who  has  melted  more 
than  fifty  million  dollars’  worth  of  gold  dust  and  nuggets. 
This  is  Mr.  G.  E.  Beraud,  the  assayer  of  the  First  National 
Bank.  He  is  a chemist  and  metallurgist  of  note,  and  was 
the  government  assayer  at  Dawson  when  the  Klondike 
rush  was  on. 

All  of  the  banks  at  Fairbanks  have  melting  pots  where 
the  dust  and  nuggets  are  turned  into  bricks  for  shipment 
outside.  You  see  these  gold  bricks  on  the  bank  counters. 
Some  are  as  small  as  a cake  of  sweet  chocolate  and  others 
are  so  large  that  if  one  fell  on  your  toes  it  would  crush  them. 

The  assaying  and  melting  is  usually  done  outside  the 
bank.  Mr.  Beraud’s  shop  is  a rude  zinc  shed  like  a 
portable  garage.  It  contains  a little  furnace  and  the 
various  implements  of  the  assayer,  including  moulds  and 

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ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


bone-ash,  and  scales  so  delicate  that  they  will  weigh  a 
pencil  mark  on  a single  sheet  of  fine  tissue  paper  or  a single 
silky  hair  of  a baby. 

The  gold  dust  is  brought  in  to  the  banks  by  the  miners 
in  pokes,  or  bags  of  buckskin  as  big  around  as  your  arm 
and  about  a foot  long.  The  banker  takes  the  poke  and 
pours  the  metal  out  on  the  scales,  and  then  either  pays 
cash  outright  for  the  gold  according  to  weight  or  gives  the 
miner  a credit  slip  which  entitles  him  to  its  actual  value 
after  it  has  been  turned  into  bullion.  The  gold  dust  is  of 
different  values.  Some  is  mixed  with  silver  and  is  not 
worth  more  than  thirteen  dollars  an  ounce.  Other  gold 
dust  may  be  worth  twenty  dollars  an  ounce.  When 
the  dust  comes  to  Mr.  Beraud,  it  is  assayed — that  is, 
it  is  melted  and  its  gold  content  tested. 

The  assay  is  made  after  the  gold  is  cast  into  bricks. 
From  each  brick  a corner  about  the  size  of  a marrowfat 
pea  is  chiselled  off.  This  is  hammered  out  on  an  anvil 
and  run  through  rollers  until  it  is  as  thin  as  a sheet  of 
paper.  A little  strip  of  this  gold  leaf  is  taken  off  and 
weighed  on  the  fine  scales.  It  is  so  treated  by  melting  in  a 
furnace  that  the  impurities  are  extracted  and  a little  button 
of  pure  gold  is  left.  This  button  is  weighed  and  its  weight 
is  subtracted  from  that  of  the  strip  before  it  was  melted. 
The  result  shows  the  proportion  of  pure  gold  in  the  brick; 
and  there  are  tables  giving  its  value  in  dollars  and  cents. 

1 asked  the  assayer  whether  he  did  not  covet  the  metal 
he  handled.  He  replied: 

“ I never  think  of  the  value.  I have  been  working  in 
gold  so  long  that  the  stuff  seems  to  me  just  like  corn  or 
oats  in  the  hands  of  a farmer.  When  1 first  began  to  assay 
at  Dawson  1 had  never  seen  gold  dust  and  nuggets  in 

164 


Pipes  filled  with  live  steam  are  forced  into  the  frozen  ground  to  thaw  it 
so  that  it  can  be  removed  and  the  gold-bearing  gravel  taken  out.  This 
is  one  of  the  reasons  why  cheap  fuel  means  so  much  to  Alaska. 


Gold  worth  $4,000  was  taken  out  of  this  Chatanika  sluice-box  in  a single 
clean-up.  Mines  of  the  Fairbanks  district  have  produced  one  fourth  of  all 
the  gold  from  Alaska. 


m 


STORIES  OF  GOLD  AND  GOLD  MINERS 


quantity  before  and  I almost  went  crazy.  I liked  the  looks 
of  the  gold  and  I bought  nuggets  and  gold  pins  and 
chains  made  of  them.  I wore  a nugget  as  a scarf  pin  and 
had  nugget  cuff  buttons.  After  a time  I grew  tired  of 
them  and  gave  them  away.” 

I asked  Mr.  Beraud  about  his  early  experiences  in 
Dawson,  when  fortunes  were  made  in  a week.  Said  he: 

‘‘The  gold  came  so  easily  that  they  almost  threw  it 
about.  The  miners  would  go  from  saloon  to  saloon  treat- 
ing the  crowd  and  throwing  their  pokes  to  the  bartender 
to  weigh  out  the  amount  of  each  treat.  They  were  so 
careless  that  a man  might  take  out  double  the  quantity 
and  not  be  detected.  A miner  might  have  a thousand 
dollars’  worth  of  gold  in  his  bag,  and  spend  it  all  in  an 
evening.  Now  and  then  one  would  come  into  a dance 
hall,  and  taking  his  seat  in  the  gallery,  call  one  of  the  girls 
to  stand  under  him  while  he  poured  gold  dust  into  her 
hair.  A dance  hall  girl  might  thus  clean  up  fifty  dollars 
in  a single  shampoo.  I remember  a miner  named  Hauser, 
who  fell  in  love  with  a girl  and  got  her  to  marry  him  by 
paying  her  what  she  weighed  in  gold  dust.  As  she  stepped 
on  the  scales  and  tipped  the  beam  at  one  hundred  and 
thirty-five  pounds  avoirdupois,  she  weighed  more  than 
twenty-one  hundred  ounces  troy  weight,  which,  at  eighteen 
dollars  an  ounce,  made  his  wife  cost  him  over  thirty-eight 
thousand  dollars.  ” 

Similar  extravagances  prevailed  here  at  Fairbanks  when 
the  camp  was  in  the  height  of  its  glory.  Miners  are 
always  generous  and  communities  like  this  are  far  more 
- charitable  than  those  in  a long-settled  country.  Said 
Mr.  L.  T.  Erwin,  the  United  States  Marshal  at  Fairbanks, 
to  me  the  other  day: 


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ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


“The  people  here  are  the  most  generous  on  earth.  It  is 
no  trick  to  raise  five  hundred  dollars  to  send  a sick  man 
or  woman  outside.  Only  a few  months  ago  a man  was 
taken  outside  with  a trained  nurse  and  enough  money 
was  sent  along  to  pay  his  hospital  expenses  in  Seattle. 
I have  lived  in  Alaska  eighteen  years  and  in  all  that  time 
I have  not  seen  one  person  obliged  to  go  begging. 

“We  have,  you  know,  many  unsuccessful  men,”  the 
marshal  continued.  “Mining  is  to  a large  extent  a 
gamble,  and  where  one  man  succeeds  there  are  hundreds 
who  fail.  I remember  an  instance  of  a man  who  came  to 
Fairbanks  to  make  his  fortune,  leaving  his  wife  and 
family  outside.  He  found  no  gold  and  finally  fell  sick 
and  died  in  a cabin  on  one  of  the  creeks.  When  the 
miners  looked  over  his  papers  they  found  a letter  that  had 
just  come  from  his  wife  in  a little  town  in  Massachusetts. 
The  letter  was  full  of  news  about  the  baby  that  had  been 
born  since  the  father  had  left  and  inside  it  was  one  of  the 
baby’s  stockings.  The  miners  stood  around  the  dead 
body  in  the  cabin  as  the  letter  was  read,  and  when  the 
stocking  was  shown  the  tears  ran  down  their  faces.  One 
of  them  reached  out  and  took  it.  He  pulled  forth  his 
poke  and  poured  in  enough  gold  dust  and  nuggets  to  fill 
up  the  toe.  Another  miner  poured  in  more  dust,  and  this 
kept  on,  the  stocking  passing  from  hand  to  hand  until 
it  was  filled.  But  all  had  not  yet  contributed.  The  gold 
was  then  poured  on  to  the  table,  the  miner  who  did  so 
saying:  ‘We’ll  dump  this  and  start  over  again.’  In  the 
end  it  was  passed  around  the  whole  camp,  with  the  result 
that  five  thousand  dollars’  worth  of  gold  dust  was  collected 
and  the  money  therefor  sent  to  the  widow.” 

United  States  Marshal  Erwin  has  the  unique  distinction 

1 66 


STORIES  OF  GOLD  AND  GOLD  MINERS 


of  being  the  only  man  who  has  ever  driven  a flock  of 
turkeys  from  the  Pacific  Ocean  across  the  mountains  into 
the  Klondike  gold  region.  We  had  been  talking  about  old 
times  when  he  told  me  this  story: 

“My  father  then  lived  near  Danville,  Kentucky,  in  one 
of  the  chief  turkey  and  goose  raising  sections  of  the  United 
States.  When  I was  a boy  turkey  raising  was  a regular 
business  there,  and  we  sometimes  drove  our  turkeys  and 
geese  as  far  as  sixty  miles  to  the  markets.  We  had  to 
put  shoes  on  the  geese  before  starting  out.” 

I laughed.  “You  need  not  smile,”  said  the  marshal; 
“that  is  the  truth.  We  made  the  shoes  by  driving  the 
geese  through  melted  pitch  and  then  through  sand. 
The  sand  and  pitch  stuck  to  their  feet  and  gave  them  a pair 
of  hard  shoes. 

“Well,  when  I came  to  the  Klondike  and  saw  the  high 
prices  they  were  getting  for  poultry  I concluded  I’d 
make  a fortune  by  bringings  live  stock  from  outside.  I 
left  the  camp  and  went  to  Seattle,  where  I bought  six 
hundred  chickens  and  eighty-four  turkeys.  I took  them 
on  a steamer  a thousand  miles  northward  to  Dyea,  and 
from  there  sent  the  chickens  by  wagon  over  the  White 
Pass.  The  turkeys  I drove.  It  was  no  trouble  except 
they  would  persist  in  stopping  at  night.  You  cannot 
prevent  a turkey  from  going  to  roost  when  the  sun  sets. 
I tried  it,  but  the  turkeys  would  jump  up  on  the  rocks. 
You  might  push  them  off  but  they  would  go  on  a few 
steps  and  then  get  up  again.  However,  I finally  got  them 
over  the  range  and  down  to  Lake  Lebarge,  whence  I 
took  them  by  boat  into  Dawson.  ” 

“How  did  you  succeed  in  the  sale?” 

“Very  well.  But  I had  to  learn  how  to  sell  them. 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


There  was  a great  competition  for  fresh  fowl  among 
the  provision  men  and  everyone  wanted  to  corner  the 
market  and  crowd  out  the  others.  When  1 entered  the 
first  store  and  told  them  I had  eighty  turkeys  and  six 
hundred  chickens  the  dealer’s  face  fell,  for  he  saw  that 
he  could  not  monopolize  such  an  enormous  proposition  as 
that.  I changed  my  plan,  kept  my  mouth  shut  about  the 
supply,  and  began  to  peddle  them  out  in  small  numbers. 
1 got  twenty  dollars  apiece  for  the  turkeys  and  from 
eight  to  ten  dollars  for  the  chickens.  Altogether  1 got 
three  thousand  dollars  out  of  my  chickens  and  two  thou- 
sand from  the  turkeys,  so  that  my  gross  receipts  for  the 
trip  were  five  thousand  dollars.” 


CHAPTER  XXI 


AMONG  THE  OLD  TIMERS 

THE  winter  is  coming  and  Monte  Terrill  will 
have  to  go  to  jail  so  we  can  take  care  of  him.” 
This  remark,  which  one  hears  as  the  summer 
ends  in  Fairbanks,  gives  in  a nutshell  one  of  the 
strange  conditions  obtaining  in  the  heart  of  Alaska.  This 
country  has  no  accommodations  for  vagrants  and  no  laws 
for  the  needy  poor.  There  is  the  Pioneer’s  Home,  it  is 
true,  but  that  is  at  Sitka  about  two  thousand  miles  from 
where  Monte  lives. 

Monte  Terrill  is  a character.  His  whole  life  has  been 
a fight  against  misfortune,  and  still,  although  blind  and 
lame,  he  is  not  willing  to  give  up  the  battle.  I do  not 
know  his  age,  but  he  has  long  passed  three  score  and  ten. 
Years  ago,  when  he  first  came  to  the  Klondike,  he  was  one 
of  the  most  ambitious,  determined,  and  industrious  of  the 
sourdoughs,  as  hardened  Alaskans  are  called.  One  day 
when  out  trapping  he  sank  through  the  ice  to  his  waist. 
The  thermometer  was  twenty-five  degrees  below  zero  and 
his  legs  were  so  badly  frozen  that  one  had  to  be  amputated 
at  the  ankle  and  the  other  taken  off  half  way  to  the  knee. 
Equipped  with  an  artificial  leg  and  feet,  he  again  took  up 
the  battle  of  life.  He  got  about  so  well  on  his  wooden 
pins  that  but  few  knew  of  his  infirmity,  and  he  obtained 
a job  with  a gang  working  on  the  Copper  River  Railroad. 
He  did  not  want  his  condition  known  to  his  mates  in  the 

169 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


construction  camp  for  fear  he  would  be  fired.  But  one 
night,  when  he  had  taken  off  his  false  feet  and  laid  them 
beside  him  in  his  bunk,  the  string  attached  to  one  of  them 
hung  down  and  tickled  the  man  in  the  bunk  below.  The 
man  gave  the  string  a jerk  and  the  wooden  foot  came  down 
and  kicked  him  in  the  face.  Monte’s  lameness  was  re- 
ported to  the  boss,  who  discharged  him  at  once. 

After  that,  Monte  went  about  working  at  anything  he 
could  get  and  drifting  from  camp  to  camp.  Finally,  he 
settled  in  a cabin  on  the  River  Cheena  not  far  from  Fair- 
banks, where  for  several  years  he  earned  a living  cutting 
wood  for  the  steamers.  Then  his  eyesight  failed.  It  was 
pitiful  to  see  how  he  tried  to  keep  people  from  knowing 
his  misfortune.  When  he  heard  a man  coming  he  would 
straighten  up  and  start  to  walk  about  boldly,  often  run- 
ning into  a tree  or  a fence.  He  was  offered  assistance  but 
would  not  take  it.  At  last  he  was  known  to  be  on  the 
verge  of  starvation  and  was  arrested  on  a charge  of  va- 
grancy and  sentenced  to  jail  for  the  winter,  so  that  the 
citizens  might  have  a legal  right  to  take  care  of  him. 
Even  then  he  complained,  saying  that  he  wanted  to  go 
back  to  his  cabin,  and  that  he  knew  he  could  in  some  way 
earn  enough  to  care  for  himself. 

This  story  was  told  me  by  Mr.  L.  T.  Erwin,  Chief 
of  Police  as  well  as  United  States  Marshal  at  Fairbanks. 
“Judge”  Erwin  has  the  job  of  keeping  order  in  a district 
half  again  as  large  as  either  Germany  or  France.  The 
district  has  only  twenty  thousand  population,  but  these  are 
so  scattered  that  fifteen  deputies  are  stationed  at  posts  over 
the  whole  country  from  the  Canadian  boundary  near  Eagle 
to  the  Russian  mission  on  the  Lower  Yukon  and  from  the 
Arctic  Circle  to  the  edge  of  the  Kuskokwim  region. 

170 


AMONG  THE  OLD  TIMERS 


Here  in  Alaska  marshals  and  their  deputies  have  to 
refer  almost  everything  to  Washington  before  they  can 
act.  When  a crime  is  committed,  not  a cent  can  be  spent 
to  detect  the  criminal  without  authority  from  the  Attor- 
ney General  five  or  six  thousand  miles  away.  Not  long 
ago  a terrible  murder  was  committed  just  outside  the  city. 
No  one  knew  who  was  the  murderer  and  it  was  impor- 
tant to  scour  the  neighbourhood  and  begin  the  work 
of  investigation  at  once.  Before  he  could  proceed  the 
marshal  had  to  send  this  cable  to  Washington: 

Attorney  General,  Washington,  D.  C. 

Woman  foully  murdered  last  night  along  the  railroad  track  within 
five  miles  of  Fairbanks.  Authority  requested  to  pay  expense  of  office 
deputies  and  make  investigations  in  the  surrounding  country. 

(Signed)  United  States  Marshal. 

It  was  days  before  authority  was  granted.  In  the 
Yukon  Territory  the  Canadian  mounted  police  would  have 
been  on  the  job  before  the  murdered  woman  grew  cold,  and 
the  arrest  would  have  been  made  almost  immediately. 

“Judge”  Erwin  has  had  considerable  experience  in 
Canada,  having  mined  gold  in  the  Klondike  before  he 
came  here.  I asked  him  whether  they  did  not  do  these 
things  better  there.  His  reply  was  characteristic: 

“Yes,  they  skin  us  a mile.  When  the  mounted  police 
have  no  law,  they  make  one,  settling  small  offences  out 
of  court.  It  is  said  that  no  murderer  of  the  Yukon  Terri- 
tory has  ever  escaped.” 

The  wheels  of  justice  are  badly  clogged  by  Washington 
red  tape.  I have  before  me  a copy  of  the  Alaska  Dispatch, 
giving  a list  of  twenty-five  murders  which  have  occurred 

171 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


within  the  last  decade,  whose  perpetrators  were  not  hung, 
shot,  or  brought  to  judgment.  The  paper  says  that  the 
criminals  in  every  case  could  have  been  convicted  if  the 
marshals  had  been  allowed  sufficient  funds  for  securing  the 
evidence.  It  gives  the  details  in  a number  of  cases,  and 
among  other  stories,  tells  of  two  prospectors  murdered  in 
the  Chandlar.  The  body  of  one  of  them,  a man  named 
Smith,  was  unearthed  and  brought  to  Fairbanks  by  the 
marshal  on  a dog  sled.  The  Government  at  Washington 
objected  to  paying  the  expenses  of  the  dog  team  and  re- 
fused to  allow  any  funds  with  which  to  make  a search  for 
the  body  of  the  partner  or  to  investigate  the  murder. 

1 asked  the  marshal  about  crime  in  this  part  of  Alaska. 
He  replied: 

“The  territory  is  supposed  to  be  full  of  bad  men,  but 
that  is  a mistake.  The  order  here  is  much  better  than  in 
the  Southern  States,  where  1 was  reared.  You  cannot  pick 
up  a Georgia  newspaper  even  now  without  finding  in  it 
a report  of  one  or  more  shooting  affrays.  In  the  last 
eleven  years  I know  of  only  one  man  killed  in  Alaska  with 
a pistol.  There  are  but  few  people  in  the  country  who 
carry  weapons.  l ire  murders  that  have  been  committed 
have  been  perpetrated  with  guns,  clubs,  or  knives. 

“Our  people  are  as  law-abiding  as  any  people  of  the 
world.  Burglary  is  almost  unknown.  I lived  in  Fair- 
banks eight  years  before  I locked  my  door.  The  people 
will  not  stand  for  robberies.  We  have  our  strikes  but 
there  is  no  bloodshed  and  no  destruction  of  property. 

“Our  people  are  charitable.  As  an  instance  of  the 
generosity  of  Fairbanks,”  continued  Marshal  Erwin, 
“take  the  San  Francisco  earthquake.  The  news  of  it 
was  telegraphed  here  one  Saturday.  There  was  a meeting 

1 72 


Many  thousands  of  dollars’  worth  of  gold  have  been  handled  in  such 
cabins  as  this  in  Alaska,  where  locks  on  the  doors  are  almost  unknown,  yet 
fortunes  in  nuggets  and  dust  are  safe. 


The  miners  remove  the  black  sand  often  mixed  with  the  gold  dust  and 
nuggets  by  blowing  it  out,  or  sometimes  by  tossing  the  contents  of  the 
gold  pan  again  and  again  into  the  air. 


The  coal  of  the  Nenana  fields,  not  far  from  Fairbanks,  is  a lignite,  ex- 
cellently suited  to  domestic  use  and  very  clean.  The  first  coal  mined  by 
the  railroad,  chiefly  for  its  own  use,  cut  in  half  the  price  of  $18.00  a ton. 


AMONG  THE  OLD  TIMERS 


that  night  at  Eagle  Hall  and  by  noon  the  next  day  twenty 
thousand  dollars  had  been  collected  and  started  on  its 
way  to  the  sufferers.  A month  later  there  was  a fire  in 
Fairbanks  which  destroyed  almost  the  whole  town.  The 
people  outside  remembered  what  we  had  done  for  San 
Francisco,  and  offers  of  help  poured  in.  They  were  all 
refused,  the  mayor  sending  this  message:  ‘We  thank  you 
all,  but  we  can  carry  our  own  skillet  and  don’t  need  any 
help.’” 

It  is  surprising  that  there  is  not  more  crime  in  Fair- 
banks. The  city  is  in  the  heart  of  the  wilds  and  sur- 
rounded by  mining  camps  that  have  produced  millions  in 
gold  dust  and  nuggets.  At  times  the  banks  have  been 
crammed  with  gold  and  in  the  camps  are  the  bags  of 
gold  washed  out  at  every  clean-up.  Gold  is  often  kept  in 
cans  and  other  common  receptacles  in  the  log  cabins,  and 
I have  not  yet  seen  a house  that  could  not  easily  be 
broken  into  and  robbed.  Millions  of  dollars’  worth  of 
gold  is  annually  carried  out  on  the  steamers  going  down 
the  Tanana  and  up  the  Yukon  to  White  Horse.  The 
present  method  of  transporting  this  treasure  is  in  an  old- 
fashioned  iron  safe  with  handles  on  each  side.  The  safe 
is  left  out  in  the  open  under  the  decks,  merely  chained  to 
the  mast. 

In  the  past  the  gold  was  kept  in  a strong  room,  and  now 
and  then  thefts  were  attempted.  One  day  a sailor  un- 
screwed the  bars  of  the  room  and  got  out  a box  of  dust 
and  nuggets  worth  thirteen  thousand  dollars.  He  and 
his  partner  in  the  crime  tied  a life  preserver  to  the  box 
and  threw  it  overboard,  thinking  the  life  preserver  would 
act  as  a float  and  enable  them  to  find  the  box  when  they 
came  back  later  on.  At  the  next  stop  one  of  the  men 

•73 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


dropped  into  the  water,  swam  to  the  bank,  and  went  back 
up  the  river  to  look  for  the  gold,  but  could  not  find  it. 
A little  later  the  officers  of  the  steamer  found  that  the 
strong  room  had  been  tampered  with  and  that  one  of  the 
boxes  was  missing.  They  caught  the  criminals,  who 
were  tried  and  sent  to  the  penitentiary.  The  life  pre- 
server was  afterward  found  by  an  Indian,  but  the  box  of 
gold  is  still  in  the  Yukon. 

On  another  steamer  a man  named  Miller  came  all  the 
way  from  the  “outside”  to  steal  a big  shipment  of 
gold.  He  got  a job  as  night  watchman,  and  one  night, 
when  the  boat  was  tied  up  at  the  wharf,  he  suc- 
ceeded in  getting  forty  thousand  dollars  in  dust  from  the 
strong  box,  putting  buckshot  in  its  place.  Before  he 
could  return  the  treasure  chest  two  half-drunken  men 
came  aboard  and  stumbled  over  the  little  safe  which 
Miller  had  brought  out  on  deck.  Realizing  what  it  was, 
they  dropped  it  over  the  side  in  the  darkness  and  then 
buried  it  in  the  woods  on  shore.  Next  morning  one  of 
them,  frightened  over  his  share  in  the  robbery,  told  the 
steamship  people  what  he  had  done,  and  helped  them  re- 
cover the  strong  box.  But  when  it  was  opened  it  was 
found  to  contain,  of  course,  only  the  buckshot  Miller  had 
substituted  for  the  gold.  Miller  was  convicted  of  the 
original  theft  through  his  purchase  of  the  buckshot  and 
served  a sentence  in  the  penitentiary,  but  the  gold  was 
never  recovered  and  it  is  supposed  he  succeeded  in  getting 
it  safely  to  the  outside. 

Though  Fairbanks  has  long  since  become  a settled 
community  without  much  of  the  lawlessness  usually  as- 
sociated with  mining  camps,  many  of  the  picturesque 
features  of  the  earlier  days  are  still  to  be  found  here.  One 

1 74 


AMONG  THE  OLD  TIMERS 


is  the  habit  of  nicknames.  Everyone  calls  his  fellow  by 
his  first  name  or  a nickname,  and  “mister”  is  almost  un- 
known. 

One  character  here  is  generally  known  as  “the  man  who 
talked  the  crow  to  death.”  This  is  a miner  who  talks  so 
much  that  his  fellows  have  time  and  again  left  him  in  dis- 
gust. One  day  they  left  a raven  sitting  on  the  fence  out- 
side his  cabin.  As  the  story  goes,  the  man  addressed  his 
conversation  to  the  raven  and  talked  to  it  until  at  last 
the  bird  dropped  dead. 

Another  man  is  known  as  “Short  and  Dirty,”  others  are 
“Skookum  Bill,”  and  “Sourdough  Bill,”  and  “the  Mala- 
mute  Kid,”  noted  for  his  fine  malamute  dogs. 

The  “ Bear  Kid”  is  a husky  fellow  who  got  the  title  by 
wrestling  with  a tame  black  bear  before  an  admiring 
crowd,  while  the  “Hungry  Kid”  is  said  to  be  able  to  eat 
at  any  and  all  times  and  never  to  refuse  a meal.  One 
very  thin  man  is  called  “the  Evaporated  Kid.”  His 
friends  say  that  he  is  a human  string  bean  with  the  bean 
left  out.  “ Eat-em-up  Frank”  owns  a cabin  on  the 
Tanana  River  between  Fort  Gibbon  and  Fairbanks, 
where  he  has  a little  potato  farm.  He  is  called  “ Eat-’em- 
up”  because  when  he  gets  drunk,  which  is  often,  he 
shouts  that  he  can  eat  up  any  man  in  the  crowd.  He 
weighs  only  one  hundred  pounds.  “Step-and-a-half 
Johnson”  has  one  leg  shorter  than  the  other.  Neverthe- 
less, he  is  fond  of  racing  and  can  get  over  the  ground  faster 
than  the  average  sprinter.  He  is  said  to  insist  that  the 
race  track  be  along  the  side  of  a hill,  where  the  slope  gives 
his  short  leg  the  advantage. 

Another  striking  character  is  “Two-step  Louie,”  who 
got  his  title  during  the  gold  rush  at  Dawson.  He  was  a 

1 75 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


successful  miner  and  a nightly  frequenter  of  the  dance 
halls.  The  usual  charge  was  a dollar  a dance,  the  man 
being  expected  to  treat  his  partner  at  the  end.  The 
story  is  told  how  “Two-step  Louie”  once  sold  a claim  for 
five  thousand  dollars  with  the  understanding  that  fifteen 
hundred  dollars  was  to  be  paid  in  Alamander  Left  chips, 
each  chip  being  good  for  one  dance.  It  is  said  he  would 
sometimes  come  into  the  dance  halls  and  pin  a one- 
hundred-dollar  note  to  the  curtain  over  the  orchestra 
telling  the  men  to  give  the  crowd  a century’s  worth  of 
“Turkey  in  the  Straw.”  The  musicians  would  play  two 
or  three  dances  and  then  take  down  the  note. 

These  tales  are  vouched  for  by  the  people  of  Fairbanks, 
but  I am  beginning  to  doubt  whether  all  the  stories  1 hear 
in  Alaska  are  true.  1 have  just  been  told  about  a miner 
at  White  River  who  had  his  toes  frozen  so  that  his  feet 
sloughed  off  to  the  instep.  The  man  had  his  toes  ampu- 
tated and  was  able  to  walk  on  the  stubs  with  the  aid  of  a 
pair  of  bear’s  feet  made  into  moccasins,  the  bear’s  claws 
taking  the  place  of  his  toes.  The  man  who  told  me  this 
showed  me  a photograph  of  the  miner  with  his  bear  feet 
tied  on. 

The  people  here  say  that  Alaska  is  as  free  of  snakes  as 
was  Ireland  after  the  advent  of  St.  Patrick.  They  claim 
that  the  only  snake  that  ever  came  into  the  territory  was 
one  brought  from  the  outside  several  years  ago  in  a bale  of 
timothy  hay.  The  snake  arrived  on  the  edge  of  winter, 
crawled  out  of  the  bale  when  the  thermometer  was  about 
forty  degrees  below  zero  and  immediately  froze  solid.  It 
was  a long  snake  and  in  freezing  the  head  bent  over  so 
that  it  looked  like  a cane.  An  Indian  chief  picked  it  up 
and  used  it  for  a walking  stick  all  that  winter.  He  is 

176 


AMONG  THE  OLD  TIMERS 


even  said  to  be  using  it  still.  He  buries  it  in  the  ice 
under  the  moss  as  the  spring  comes  on,  and  when  the 
thermometer  falls  brings  it  out  as  a prop  for  his  declining 
years. 

And  then  the  fish  stories!  Judge  Wickersham  of  Fair- 
banks tells  me  of  a lake  near  the  headwaters  of  the  Tanana 
River  where  he  often  goes  for  sport  in  the  summer.  The 
water  is  as  clear  as  crystal,  and  looking  down  over  the  side 
of  the  boat  he  can  see  hundreds  of  fish  swimming  about. 
He  picks  out  those  he  wishes  to  catch,  dropping  his  bait 
in  front  of  only  the  best,  and  pulling  it  away  when  a small 
fish  or  one  of  the  wrong  variety  might  swallow  it.  As  I 
remember,  he  could  catch  a boat  load  in  an  hour,  but  on 
account  of  this  careful  selection  and  his  desire  for  sport 
he  takes  rather  longer. 

It  is  said  also  that  when  the  women  of  Fairbanks  go 
fishing,  instead  of  dropping  the  flies  on  the  water,  they 
hold  them  at  the  edge  of  the  line,  some  distance  above  it, 
and  wager  as  to  who  can  make  the  trout  jump  the  highest. 
The  loser  has  to  treat  the  crowd  to  a luncheon. 


S7? 


CHAPTER  XXII 


FROM  FORT  GIBBON  TO  THE  SEA 

TO-DAY,  after  steaming  down  the  Tanana 
River  for  two  hundred  and  seventy-five  miles 
from  Fairbanks,  I am  once  more  on  the  mighty 
Yukon,  this  time  on  my  way  to  Bering  Sea  and 
Nome.  For  the  last  two  months  I have  been  travelling 
on  this  great  river  and  its  tributaries.  The  section  where 
I now  am  is  known  as  the  Lower  Yukon  and  is  about  eight 
hundred  miles  long,  or  about  one  third  the  length  of  the 
main  stream. 

Though  it  drains  thousands  of  square  miles,  the  Lower 
Yukon  basin  numbers  its  population,  1 venture,  by  the 
hundreds.  Going  down  river,  we  have  now  and  then 
passed  an  Indian  village  and  stopped  at  several  towns 
which  form  the  river  ports  for  gold  mines.  One  of  the 
chief  of  these  latter  is  Ruby,  one  hundred  and  seventy- 
five  miles  below  Fort  Gibbon.  Ten  years  ago  this  was 
the  scene  of  a stampede  when  gold  was  discovered  on 
Ruby  Creek.  It  is  still  the  most  important  settlement  on 
this  part  of  the  river,  with  its  log  and  sheet-iron  buildings 
so  jumbled  together  that  they  look  as  if  they  had  been 
pitched  out  of  the  sky  and  allowed  to  lie  as  they  fell. 

The  people  are  supported  by  the  gold  mines.  About 
some  of  the  houses  are  gardens  and  there  are  two  hot- 
houses noted  for  their  fine  vegetables.  The  proprietor 
of  one  of  these,  who  boarded  our  steamer  for  Nome,  had 

178 


FROM  FORT  GIBBON  TO  THE  SEA 


as  a sample  of  his  products  a cucumber  eighteen  inches 
long.  He  said  that  was  only  a small  one. 

A little  below  Ruby  we  passed  the  mouth  of  the  Koyu- 
kuk  River,  which  is  navigable  for  more  than  five  hundred 
miles  north  of  where  it  flows  into  the  Yukon.  Its  rich 
mining  camps  are  reached  by  small  steamers. 

A few  miles  beyond  the  mouth  of  the  Koyukuk  we 
stopped  at  Nulato.  This  is  an  Indian  village,  one  of  the 
oldest  trading  posts  on  the  Yukon.  It  was  established 
by  the  Russians  when  Van  Buren  was  President  and  at 
about  the  time  that  Tyler  entered  the  White  House  it 
was  taken  over  by  the  Russian-American  Company  and 
became  the  chief  market  for  the  furs  of  this  part  of  Alaska. 

The  Nulato  of  to-day  is  interesting  chiefly  because  of 
its  Indian  cemetery.  Our  boat  tied  up  right  under  it, 
so  that  we  had  a good  view  of  the  native  monuments  on 
the  steep  hill  above  us.  Scores  of  little  yellow,  blue,  red, 
green,  and  white  kennel-like  houses  were  scattered  along 
the  top  of  the  hill,  the  homes  of  the  ghosts  of  the  departed, 
into  which  the  Indians  now  and  then  put  food  for  the 
spirits.  Above  each  house  was  a cross,  showing  how 
Christianity  is  combined  with  the  native  superstitions. 
On  the  roofs  of  the  graves  were  laid  many  mirrors,  which 
flashed  in  the  sun,  as  well  as  such  belongings  of  the  dead 
as  guns,  snow-shoes,  bags  of  tobacco,  and  other  treasures. 
It  must  have  been  a tedious  business  to  get  the  bodies  up 
to  that  lofty  perch,  yet  to  this  day,  I am  told,  canoes 
sometimes  arrive  with  the  remains  of  Indians  who  have 
asked  to  be  buried  there. 

The  natives  of  Nulato  are  dirty  and  their  houses  are 
not  as  well  kept  as  those  of  the  Upper  Yukon  tribes.  The 
squaws  object  to  having  their  pictures  taken,  and  when  I 

179 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


pointed  my  camera  at  some  of  them,  they  wrapped  their 
shaw'ls  around  their  heads  and  threw  themselves  down 
on  the  ground. 

The  next  town  below  Nulato  is  Kaltag,  the  starting 
point  for  a winter  trail  across  to  Unalalik,  which  shortens 
the  way  to  Nome  by  five  hundred  miles.  To  the  coast 
by  this  portage  it  is  some  eighty  or  ninety  miles,  while 
by  the  river  it  is  six  hundred.  Kaltag  is  a trading  post 
and  a government  telegraph  station.  It  also  has  a wire- 
less tower  which  was  erected  by  private  parties  to  main- 
tain communication  with  the  Iditarod  gold  fields. 

While  our  steamer  took  on  fuel  oil,  I set  out  on  a short 
tramp  into  the  country.  Passing  through  the  village  of 
a dozen  one-story  cabins  all  fastened  with  padlocks  be- 
cause the  Indian  owners  had  gone  off  for  a feast,  1 found 
myself  in  a virgin  wilderness. 

The  ground  was  covered  with  moss  and  spotted  with 
stunted  spruce  trees  and  bushes  loaded  with  blueberries, 
cranberries,  and  squawberries.  The  moss  was  so  deep 
that  I seemed  to  be  treading  on  a feather  bed.  Every- 
where I went  my  feet  sank  in  to  the  ankles.  The  moss 
felt  cold,  and  pulling  some  up,  I found  the  bed  of  per- 
petual ice  just  below.  The  matted  roots  were  heavy  with 
moisture  though  bare  of  soil. 

On  this  walk  I had  my  first  experience  with  the  Alaska 
mosquitoes.  To  my  surprise,  these  pests  were  not  fierce, 
and  their  bites  not  as  severe  as  those  of  the  New  Jersey 
species.  Though  1 had  neither  gloves  nor  head-net  I 
suffered  no  great  discomfort.  This,  I am  told,  is  very 
unusual,  as  generally  the  mosquitoes  are  almost  unbear- 
able. They  come  in  May  and  June,  shortly  after  the 
breaking  of  the  ice.  At  that  time  everyone  who  goes 

180 


The  young  Indians  like  to  have  their  pictures  taken,  but  the  older  squaws 
object  and  hide  their  faces.  The  old  Eskimos  believe  the  photographer 
carries  away  with  him  control  of  the  soul  of  his  subject. 


The  population  of  the  great  basin  of  the  lower  Yukon  is  numbered 
only  by  hundreds.  Ruby,  the  principal  town,  is  supported  mainly  by  the 
gold  mines  on  Ruby  Creek,  once  the  scene  of  a stampede. 


Within  two  years  after  gold  was  discovered  in  the  district  near  by, 
Iditarod  had  produced  six  million  dollars’  worth.  The  town  is  reached 
from  the  lower  Yukon  by  going  up  the  Innoko  and  Iditarod  rivers. 


FROM  FORT  GIBBON  TO  THE  SEA 


through  the  country  must  wear  a head-net  and  have  his 
hands  protected  by  gloves.  It  is  best  to  wear  boots, 
for  the  mosquitoes  bore  their  way  through  the  eyelet 
holes  in  one’s  shoes,  and  their  bites  raise  great  buttons  of 
flesh  on  each  side  of  the  tongue.  I have  heard  of  men 
being  killed  by  the  mosquitoes,  and  they  say  the  horses 
and  other  animals  go  almost  crazy  from  the  bites  if  they 
are  left  out  in  the  woods. 

Leaving  Kaltag,  the  Yukon  flows  almost  straight  south 
for  a distance  of  one  hundred  and  fifty  miles  or  more  to 
the  Holy  Cross  Mission,  near  which  the  Innoko  River 
comes  in.  The  Innoko  gives  access  to  the  gold  fields 
known  as  the  Iditarod.  The  camp  is  reached  by  sailing 
up  the  Innoko  to  Dykeman  at  the  head  of  navigation  of 
the  Iditarod  River,  a branch  of  the  Innoko.  The  distance 
is  about  three  hundred  and  fifty  miles,  and  from  there  to 
the  camp  is  seventy-five  miles  farther.  In  two  years 
after  its  discovery  the  mines  of  the  Iditarod  district  had 
yielded  six  million  dollars’  worth  of  gold.  A single  claim 
has  produced  forty  thousand  dollars’  worth  of  gold  a week 
throughout  a season.  Many  of  the  claims  have  been 
bonded  or  bought  by  the  Guggenheims,  who  are  now 
operating  large  dredges  there. 

Between  Kaltag  and  the  Holy  Cross  Mission  is  Anvik, 
an  Indian  settlement  with  a Russian  church,  and  still 
farther  down  the  river  is  Andreafski,  established  by  the 
Russians  in  1853.  Andreafski  is  now  a little  trading 
station  on  the  banks  of  the  Yukon  with  a great  oil  tank, 
at  which  the  steamers  stop  to  take  fuel.  The  town  is 
populated  almost  entirely  by  Eskimos,  about  the  only 
whites  being  the  storekeepers. 

From  Andreafski  the  Yukon  widens  until  it  is  soon 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


three  miles  from  one  bank  to  the  other.  Then  it  branches 
out  into  wide  channels,  each  leading  to  the  sea.  Its 
many  mouths  form  a great  fan-like  delta  one  hundred 
miles  wide.  In  flood  time  the  whole  country  is  under 
water.  Islands  grow  up  in  a night  and  new  sand  bars  are 
sighted  every  voyage.  In  places  the  stream  is  so  wide 
that  one  can  see  little  except  a vast  expanse  of  yellow 
water  rimmed  by  the  sapphire  sky.  Close  to  the  shore 
grows  grass  as  green  as  that  of  Holland,  and  the  boat 
seems  to  be  moving  through  one  vast  pasture. 

The  Government  has  done  little  to  improve  the  navi- 
gation of  the  Yukon.  The  only  lights  on  this  mighty 
stream,  with  its  winding  course,  its  scores  of  tributaries, 
and  its  thousands  of  shifting  sand  bars  and  islands,  are 
where  the  river  flows  into  the  ocean.  Some  of  the  cap- 
tains put  up  their  own  marks  to  aid  them  in  subsequent 
voyages.  As  we  passed  through  the  delta  the  captain 
of  our  steamer  showed  me  a barrel  in  the  middle  of  a 
large  sand  bar.  The  sand  bar  was  under  water  during 
the  last  trip,  when  he  had  anchored  the  barrel  there  to 
locate  it.  The  captains  all  keep  records  of  each  trip, 
noting  the  changes  and  handing  their  sketches  over  to 
the  captains  following  them  up  or  down  stream. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 


THE  CITY  OF  GOLDEN  SANDS 

I AM  in  the  Hotel  Golden  Gate  in  Nome,  the  City  of 
Golden  Sands.  To-day  when  I stood  on  Front  Street 
at  high  tide  and  threw  a stone  into  the  ocean  it  rico- 
chetted  over  a beach  which  was  once  a gold  mine. 
News  that  gold  had  been  discovered  in  the  beds  of 
creeks  near  by  was  already  beginning  to  bring  prospectors 
to  this  part  of  Seward  Peninsula  when,  in  1899,  gold  was 
found  right  on  the  beach  here.  It  was  discovered  by  a 
United  States  soldier,  who  panned  out  enough  every 
day  or  so  for  an  extra  meal.  Then  “Missouri  Bill”  made 
his  big  strike,  getting  out  twelve  thousand  dollars’  worth 
in  one  day.  Soon  men  poured  in  by  the  thousands  from 
all  parts  of  the  world  to  wash  out  this  easy  money  from 
the  sea  sands. 

The  gold  was  in  a kind  of  ruby  sand  which  lay  in  beds 
from  six  inches  to  two  feet  deep  for  forty  miles  along  the 
shore.  As  the  miners  came  in  each  picked  out  a space, 
drove  in  a stake  where  he  stood,  and  drew  a mark  on  the 
sand  around  him  as  far  out  as  he  could  reach  with  his 
shovel.  Out  of  such  small  holdings  within  less  than  two 
months  a million  dollars’  worth  of  gold  dust  had  been 
washed  from  the  beach  in  front  of  Nome.  Just  west  of 
the  town  two  men  cleaned  up  thirty-eight  hundred  dollars 
in  three  days. 

When  the  beach  mining  was  at  its  height,  the  people 

183 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


went  crazy.  Mining  cradles  were  in  great  demand  and 
the  price  of  lumber  rose  to  four  hundred  dollars  a thou- 
sand feet.  Coal  brought  from  fifty  dollars  to  one  hun- 
dred dollars  a ton,  and  cabins  and  shacks  of  one  room  sold 
for  six  hundred  dollars  each.  Wages  at  once  jumped  to 
ten  dollars  a day,  and  during  a part  of  the  time  to  two 
dollars  an  hour.  Then  the  sands  began  to  play  out.  In 
1900  those  in  front  of  Nome  yielded  three  hundred  and 
fifty  thousand  dollars,  but  the  next  year  they  had  dropped 
to  one  seventh  as  much.  It  is  the  same  with  the  other 
beach  mines  along  the  coast.  Some  of  them  yielded 
hundreds  of  thousands  of  dollars,  but  they  were  soon 
washed  out. 

Still,  as  I walked  up  the  beach  this  afternoon  I saw  men 
taking  gold  out  of  the  sand.  In  one  place  they  had  put 
up  an  engine  and  stretched  a rude  tent  above  it.  Con- 
nected with  the  engine  was  a pipe  about  six  inches  in 
diameter  which  carried  the  water  to  the  top  of  a sluice 
box  twenty  or  thirty  feet  high.  The  men  were  throwing 
the  sand  into  the  box  and  the  stream  was  washing  it 
away,  the  gold  being  caught  in  riffles  or  iron  gratings  in 
the  bottom  of  the  box. 

Farther  north  some  men  were  rocking  out  the  gold  in 
hand  cradles,  and  there  was  patchy  mining  going  on  all 
along  the  beach.  I saw  a woman  laying  out  a claim  and 
fencing  it  with  poles.  She  seemed  to  resent  my  inspec- 
tion. She  was  a positive  woman  and  did  not  want  visi- 
tors. 

I am  told  there  is  still  gold  in  these  sands  in  front  of 
Nome  and  that  more  comes  in  at  every  high  tide.  One 
can  get  colour  almost  anywhere  by  washing  the  sand.  A 
low-grade  deposit  amounting  to  something  like  fifty  cents 

184 


THE  CITY  OF  GOLDEN  SANDS 


a cubic  yard  is  said  to  run  for  miles  along  the  seashore,  and 
machinery  may  yet  be  invented  to  get  this  gold  out  profit- 
ably. 

I doubt  not  that  there  is  a fortune  under  the  planks  of 
Front  Street,  and  that  if  the  buildings  were  cleared  away 
from  the  tundra  on  which  they  stand  it  could  be  mined 
at  a profit.  Some  of  the  houses  have  cellars  which 
yielded  enough  pay  dirt  to  cover  the  cost  of  the  digging. 
The  gold  is  scattered  through  the  earth  in  patches  or 
pockets,  and  there  are  probably  many  pockets  yet  undis- 
covered. 

Back  of  Nome  one  can  see  the  tailings  from  which  the 
gold  has  been  taken.  There  is  a plain  about  four  miles 
wide  running  from  the  shore  to  a low  range  of  mountains, 
composed  of  three  ancient  beaches  which  have  grown  up 
throughout  the  ages.  From  these  beaches  millions  of 
dollars’  worth  of  gold  has  been  mined. 

I shall  not  forget  my  landing  at  Nome.  It  was  early 
in  the  morning  when  our  steamer  cast  anchor  a mile  or  so 
out.  We  were  taken  from  the  ship  by  a steam  launch  to  a 
landing  above  which  rose  a great  tower  connected  by  a 
cable  with  another  tower  of  an  equal  height  on  the  main- 
land. Passengers  and  baggage  were  taken  from  the 
ocean  tower  to  the  land  in  a platform  cage  which  swung 
dizzily  along  on  the  cable  high  above  the  billows. 

The  city  of  Nome  is  a town  of  shreds  and  patches,  the 
raggedest  municipality  I have  yet  struck  in  Alaska. 
There  are  houses  enough  for  ten  thousand  people,  though 
the  population  is  to-day  not  one  tenth  of  that.  The  sky- 
line looks  like  the  jaws  of  a boy  just  getting  his  second 
teeth.  The  buildings  are  scattered  along  streets  paved 
with  plank,  gravel,  or  the  sand  of  the  seashore. 

185 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


At  the  upper  end  is  the  Eskimo  village.  It  is  com- 
posed of  tents,  rude  cabins,  and  shacks  of  boards,  most 
of  them  put  up  by  the  placer  miners  and  now  occupied 
by  squatters  and  Eskimos.  The  town  proper  is  farther 
down  the  beach.  The  chief  street  is  Front  Street,  a wide 
road  paved  with  thick  planks  and  lined  with  houses  of 
one  or  two  stories.  Some  of  the  buildings  contain  ex- 
cellent stores,  but  there  are  many  vacancies,  and  signs 
of  “To  Rent”  are  to  be  seen  in  every  block. 

There  are  but  few  big  buildings  in  Nome.  The  largest 
is  the  Golden  Gate  Hotel,  a dreary  four-story  barn  with 
numerous  bay-windows  across  its  front  and  a view  as 
desolate  as  that  of  Poverty  Flat.  The  building  is  of 
light  wood,  which  carries  sound  like  a fiddle  box.  The 
moving  of  a bed  on  the  ground  floor  sends  a noise  to  the 
rooms  in  the  attic.  The  place  is  golden  only  in  the  high 
charges  for  any  petty  service  the  guest  may  want.  It 
costs  me  ten  cents  to  press  the  electric  button  which 
brings  the  bellboy,  and  the  bills  for  laundry  are  beyond 
computation. 

To  strangers  with  the  proper  introductions  perhaps  the 
most  interesting  place  in  Nome  is  the  Log  Cabin  Club, 
famous  all  over  Alaska  for  its  hospitality.  Its  picturesque 
home  is  a cabin  furnished  in  keeping  with  its  rustic  style. 
The  table  in  the  centre  of  its  huge  main  clubroom  is  thirty 
feet  long  and  five  feet  wide.  It  seems  to  be  a single  thick 
slab  and  is  so  polished  that  one  can  see  his  face  in  it.  The 
front  door  is  of  logs  and  the  great  hinges  are  of  hand- 
wrought  iron. 

When  Nome  was  started  there  was  no  lumber  to  be  had, 
and  the  first  homes  were  tents.  Later,  frame  houses  were 
built  over  the  tents,  or  as  an  annex  to  them.  Many  small 

1 86 


THE  CITY  OF  GOLDEN  SANDS 


shacks  went  up,  and  then  came  rambling  buildings  of  two 
or  three  stories.  Even  to-day  there  are  but  few  large 
houses  and  many  a home  has  only  three  or  four  rooms. 
One  reason  for  this  is  the  cost  of  fuel  and  the  difficulty  of 
keeping  the  houses  warm  during  the  cold  winter  months. 

The  little  buildings  have  to  have  high  stovepipes,  in 
order  that  their  draught  may  not  be  cut  off  by  the  taller 
structures  about  them.  The  result  is  a little  cottage  will 
often  have  a galvanized  stovepipe  as  high  as  itself  rising 
above  it.  Looking  down  on  the  town,  one  sees  a thicket 
of  these  smokestacks  springing  out  of  the  roofs.  They 
look  like  handles  to  the  houses  below,  and  make  one  think 
of  so  many  Irish  shillalahs,  the  chimneys  being  the  handles 
and  the  houses  the  knobs  on  the  ends  of  the  clubs. 

Many  of  the  houses  have  gardens,  for  Nome  is  so  far 
north  that,  though  the  summers  are  short,  the  sun  works 
eighteen  to  twenty-four  hours  then  and  the  people  are 
able  to  grow  lettuce,  turnips,  and  other  green  stuff. 
Nearly  every  woman  has  some  flowers  in  her  front  windows 
and  some  have  flowers  growing  outside.  Entering,  you 
find  these  homes  very  well  furnished.  They  have  their 
pianos  and  other  musical  instruments.  They  are  well 
equipped  with  books  and  magazines,  in  fact,  with  all  the 
furnishings  of  the  cultured  homes  of  the  States. 

On  the  street  are  many  women  and  men  as  well  dressed 
as  those  of  our  cities,  and  there  are  others  clad  in  the 
rough  clothing  necessary  for  hard  labour  in  the  Far 
North.  There  are  miners  wearing  shoes  laced  to  their 
knees,  or  white  or  black  rubber  boots  to  the  waist.  There 
are  Eskimos  in  mukluks  and  skin  garments.  Their  fat 
Mongolian  features  look  out  of  fur  hoods  with  bristles 
as  long  as  a hat  pin.  Some  are  clad  in  parkas  of  fur  or 

187 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


cotton,  with  their  feet  in  boots  of  sealskin  to  the  knees. 
There  are  little  Eskimo  women  with  babies  tied  to  their 
backs.  The  faces  of  the  little  ones  peep  out  over  the 
shoulders  of  their  mothers.  The  Eskimos  look  queerest 
when  the  rain  comes,  and  this  just  now  is  most  of  the  time. 
Then  the  natives  put  on  waterproof  coats  made  of  the 
bladders  of  the  walrus,  a skin  as  thin  as  paper,  which 
turns  the  rain  and  keeps  one  dry  in  the  wettest  of  weather. 
This  skin  is  in  small  pieces  sewed  together  in  bulbous 
patches. 

Among  the  most  striking  business  features  of  Nome  are 
the  curio  shops,  stores  selling  mining  materials,  and  those 
dealing  in  furs  of  every  description.  Some  of  the  latter 
have  polar  bear  skins  costing  from  forty  dollars  to  seventy- 
five  dollars  apiece,  glacier  bear  skins  worth  one  fourth 
as  much,  and  brown  bear  skins  of  great  size.  The  stores 
have  also  white  fox  skins,  reindeer  hides,  and  skins  of  the 
ermine,  which  are  as  white  as  snow  with  a pinch  of  black 
on  the  end  of  the  tail.  The  places  selling  mining  supplies 
and  hardware  are  especially  large.  1 went  through  one 
hardware  store  that  does  a business  of  several  hundred 
thousand  dollars  a year.  Nome  is  a wholesale  centre  for 
the  mining  camps  not  only  of  the  Seward  Peninsula,  but 
also  for  those  of  Arctic  Alaska,  and  for  much  of  north- 
eastern Siberia  as  well. 

The  provision  stores  carry  stocks  out  of  proportion  to 
the  size  of  the  community,  especially  in  the  fall  when  full 
supplies  have  to  be  laid  in  for  the  long  winter  months. 
The  last  steamer  comes  late  in  October.  From  then  on 
for  six  months  or  more  the  country  is  icebound,  and  such 
goods  as  are  brought  in  must  be  on  dog  sleds.  Freight 
charges  for  such  supplies  double  their  price. 

1 88 


Ships  anchor  far  outside  at  Nome,  and  passengers  are  swung  ashore  on  a 
platform  suspended  on  a cable  stretched  from  a tower  built  in  the  water 
to  another  tower  on  the  beach. 


The  Log  Cabin  Club  is  the  centre  of  the  gay  social  life  of  Nome,  when 
for  seven  or  eight  months  it  is  shut  in  by  the  ice  stretching  away  to  the 
Siberian  shores. 


THE  CITY  OF  GOLDEN  SANDS 


Just  now,  in  the  heart  of  midsummer,  the  weather  is  as 
soft  and  warm  as  in  New  York  or  Massachusetts.  The  air 
is  so  full  of  ozone  that  one  seems  to  be  breathing  cham- 
pagne. It  is  light  the  clock  around  and  I can  read  my 
newspaper  at  midnight.  Along  in  October  the  Nomeites 
will  first  sight  blocks  of  ice  floating  down  from  the  north. 
Perhaps  the  day  after  the  water  will  take  on  a slushy  look 
and  in  a little  while  Nome  will  be  frozen  in  for  seven 
months  of  winter.  The  thermometer  drops  to  below  zero 
and  stays  there,  sometimes  going  to  forty  below,  and  back 
from  the  coast,  still  lower. 

Many  of  the  people  leave  Nome  to  spend  the  winter  in 
the  States,  returning  the  following  summer.  Those  who 
remain  adopt  a dress  much  like  that  of  the  Eskimos. 
They  have  fur  coats,  shoes,  and  boots,  and  protect  their 
hands  with  fur  mittens.  Most  of  the  citizens  are  con- 
fined to  the  town  at  this  time,  but  there  are  trips  with  dog 
sleds  across  country,  and  except  during  blizzards  there  is 
communication  between  Nome  and  Council  City. 

1 am  told  by  the  residents  that  the  winter  is  the  most  in- 
teresting time  of  the  year.  Then  the  people  have  dances, 
socials,  fairs,  and  amateur  theatricals.  It  is  quite  the 
thing  to  go  across  country  on  skis  from  the  town  to  the 
creeks  and  mining  camps.  Nome  has  a ski  club,  and 
tournaments  are  held,  in  whjch  prizes  are  awarded,  both 
for  jumping  and  for  speed.  Sleighing  with  dogs  is  another 
amusement.  A common  winter  sight  is  milady,  wrapped 
in  furs,  sitting  in  a dog  sled,  with  the  driver  running  be- 
hind, holding  on  to  the  handle  bars.  Such  sleds  are  used 
to  go  to  dances  held  in  the  neighbouring  camps,  and  the 
men  run  races  with  each  other. 

I like  the  Nomeites.  There  are  but  few  drones  among 

i8q 


ALASKA — OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


them,  and  most  of  them  are  good  boosters.  They  do  not 
expect  their  city  to  have  the  population  it  once  had  but 
they  say  that  owing  to  the  large  area  of  low-grade  gold 
earth  about  it  Nome  is  bound  to  be  a mining  centre  for 
generations  to  come.  They  say  also  that  it  will  always  be 
the  chief  port  of  the  Seward  Peninsula,  a territory  which 
has  vast  mineral  resources  yet  to  be  developed. 


190 


CHAPTER  XXIV 


CREEKS  THAT  MADE  MILLIONAIRES 

SEWARD  PENINSULA,  which  forms  the  extreme 
western  end  of  Alaska,  is  the  Golden  Horn  of  the 
| North  American  continent.  It  is  twice  as  big  as 
Maryland  and  half  the  size  of  Ohio,  and  a great 
part  of  it  is  peppered  with  gold.  The  district  has  already 
produced  more  than  eighty  million  dollars’  worth  of  gold 
dust  and  nuggets  and  the  country  has  hardly  been  scratch- 
ed. Dr.  Alfred  H.  Brooks,  the  head  of  the  Alaska  division 
of  the  Geological  Survey,  has  estimated  that  there  are 
more  than  two  hundred  million  dollars’  worth  of  gold 
mixed  with  its  gravels,  and  the  probability  is  that  the  total 
output  of  minerals  will  be  fifty  or  more  times  the  amount 
we  paid  for  Alaska. 

I have  just  returned  from  a trip  with  Jafet  Lindeberg 
through  the  greatest  gold  mines  of  the  Seward  Peninsula. 
They  belong  to  the  Pioneer  Mining  Company,  founded  by 
Lindeberg,  Bryntesen,  and  Lindbloom,  the  “three  lucky 
Swedes.’’  Since  then  more  than  six  million  dollars’ 
worth  of  gold  has  been  taken  out  of  that  creek,  and  tens 
of  millions  have  come  from  the  coastal  plain  through  which 
it  runs.  The  Pioneer  Mining  Company  now  owns  about 
three  thousand  acres  of  gold-bearing  earth  and  is  capital- 
ized at  five  million  dollars. 

When  gold  was  discovered,  Lindeberg  and  his  partners 
washed  out  the  first  dust  by  hand,  melting  the  frozen 

1 9 1 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


earth  with  hot  water.  To-day  the  washing  is  done  with 
the  finest  of  mining  machinery.  Rivers  of  water  have 
been  carried  over  the  mountains  to  supply  the  hydraulic 
giants,  and  the  gold-bearing  earth  is  forced  up  through 
pipes  to  a height  of  fifty  feet  into  sluice  boxes,  in  which 
the  gold  is  washed  out.  Some  of  the  company’s  land  is 
phenomenally  rich.  Three  hundred  acres,  or  about  one 
tenth  of  it,  will  run,  so  Mr.  Lindeberg  told  me,  from 
seventy-five  thousand  dollars  to  one  hundred  thousand 
dollars  of  gold  to  the  acre,  or  in  all  from  twenty  to  thirty 
million  dollars.  The  remaining  twenty-seven  hundred 
acres  carry  more  or  less  gold,  and  the  company  has  enough 
work  in  sight  to  keep  it  busy  for  many  years. 

I have  seen  much  of  Jafet  Lindeberg,  who,  with  John 
Bryntesen  and  Erik  Lindbloom,  made  the  discovery  that 
resulted  in  the  great  gold  fields  of  Nome.  None  of  the 
three  men  had  had  much  experience  in  gold  mining. 
Bryntesen  had  come  from  the  iron  mines  of  Michigan  to 
search  for  coal.  Lindbloom  had  emigrated  from  Sweden 
to  San  Francisco,  where  he  had  worked  as  a tailor,  and 
came  to  Alaska  on  hearing  of  the  gold  discoveries  at 
Kotzebue  Sound.  Lindeberg  had  come  from  Norway  to 
aid  the  United  States’  expedition  which  took  reindeer  from 
Norway  to  the  starving  miners  at  Dawson.  Having 
heard  of  Klondike  gold,  he  took  the  reindeer  contract  so 
as  to  get  to  the  mines.  When  he  landed  with  the  deer  he 
heard  that  gold  had  been  discovered  on  the  Seward 
Peninsula  and  came  on  north  to  St.  Michael.  He  was 
prospecting  near  there,  along  the  Fish  River,  when  he  fell 
in  with  Bryntesen  and  Lindbloom,  and  the  three  decided 
to  go  westward  and  test  the  country  about  the  Snake 
River,  at  the  mouth  of  which  Nome  is  situated.  They  had 

192 


The  people  “inside”  do  not  let  the  snows  and  long  twilights  of  winter 
keep  them  at  home.  The  men  try  to  beat  each  other  getting  their  sweet- 
hearts by  dog  sleds  to  the  dances  in  the  mining  creek  towns. 


In  hydraulic  mining  mighty  streams  of  water  are  directed  against  the 
hiilsides  of  gold-bearing  earth,  thawing  it  and  forcing  it  through  pipes 
up  fifty  feet  to  the  sluice  boxes  where  the  gold  is  washed  out. 


CREEKS  THAT  MADE  MILLIONAIRES 


tested  a half-dozen  creeks  flowing  into  the  river,  finding 
more  or  less  gold,  when  they  made  their  discovery  on 
Anvil  Creek.  That  was  the  twentieth  of  September, 
1898.  The  weather  was  already  cold,  but  by  using  hot 
water  they  were  able  to  wash  the  gravel,  and  took  out 
eighteen  hundred  dollars’  worth  of  gold  within  a few  days. 

The  Pioneer  properties  are  in  and  about  Anvil  Creek 
and  include  the  site  of  the  original  discovery.  The  chief 
agent  in  getting  out  the  gold  is  water,  which  bursts  forth 
from  pipes  in  streams  as  big  around  as  a telegraph  pole 
and  often  several  hundred  feet  long.  The  force  of  these 
streams  is  so  great  that  they  would  cut  a man  in  two  if  he 
tried  to  cross  one.  They  are  so  swift  you  cannot  pierce 
them  with  an  ax.  They  are  sent  against  the  hills  and 
lift  up  rocks  and  gravel  and  shoot  them  in  clouds  through 
the  air.  At  one  point  of  my  trip  one  of  these  streams  came 
between  me  and  the  sun,  and  the  sand,  gravel,  and  water 
composing  it  took  on  all  the  colours  of  the  rainbow. 

I stood  for  awhile  and  watched  the  men  working.  They 
were  clad  in  slickers  and  white  rubber  boots.  The  pipe 
from  which  the  stream  came  was  so  delicately  poised  on 
a pivot  that  it  could  be  moved  with  the  touch  of  a finger 
and  made  to  carry  the  gold-bearing  earth  where  the 
man  directing  it  willed.  The  water  boiled  and  foamed 
as  it  struck  the  glacial  ice  in  which  the  golden  gravel  is 
bedded.  It  melted  the  ice,  tore  the  earth  awayfrom  it,  and 
carried  the  mass  of  earth  and  gravel  to  the  hydraulic  lifts. 
In  one  place  I saw  such  streams  moving  mountains  of 
gravel,  and  everywhere  they  were  forcing  the  gold,  sand, 
and  gravel  up  great  pipes  into  the  sluice-boxes. 

With  Mr.  Lindeberg  I watched  the  torrent  rushing  down 
the  sluice-boxes.  The  force  of  the  flood  is  so  enormous 


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ALASKA — OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


that  if  one  should  fall  into  it  he  would  be  crushed  to 
a jelly.  If  he  were  caught  near  the  bottom  of  the  pipe 
leading  up  to  a sluice  he  would  be  drawn  into  it  by  the 
suction.  Such  an  accident  happened  not  long  ago. 
A miner  fell  and  was  sucked  into  the  hole.  Every  bit 
of  blood  was  taken  out  of  his  body  and  his  arms  and  legs 
were  torn  off. 

After  we  had  examined  the  sluice-boxes,  Mr.  Linde- 
berg  took  us  to  the  sides  of  a hill  and  demonstrated  the 
richness  of  the  gold-bearing  sand  of  that  part  of  the  mine. 
He  drove  a shovel  into  the  hill  and  carried  a couple  of 
quarts  of  the  sand  and  gravel  to  one  of  the  little  streams 
that  ran  through  the  bed  of  the  pit.  He  dipped  the 
shovel  into  the  water  and  moved  it  slowly  about,  washing 
away  the  dirt  and  the  sand.  At  the  end  he  showed  us  a 
good-sized  pinch  of  pure  gold  in  grains  ranging  from  the 
size  of  coarsely  ground  coffee  to  that  of  fine  table  salt. 
My  daughter,  who  was  with  me,  expressed  a wish  to  wash 
out  some  gold.  She  scooped  up  about  a hatful  of  earth 
and  succeeded  in  getting  out  about  seventy-five  cents’ 
worth  of  gold. 

In  my  talk  with  Mr.  Lindeberg,  I asked  him  to  tell  me 
something  about  the  changes  in  mining.  Said  he: 

“We  started  by  digging  the  earth  with  pick  and  shovel, 
and  we  used  the  old-fashioned  rocker  to  wash  out  the 
gold.  Later  on,  we  made  sluice-boxes  and  had  horses  and 
scrapers.  Then  came  the  steam  shovel,  and  now  we  are 
doing  most  of  our  mining  with  water  and  the  hydraulic 
lifts. 

“There  has  been  a great  change  in  the  amount  of  gold 
saved.  Ground  that  could  not  be  worked  at  a profit  in 
the  old  way  now  pays  very  well.  With  our  hydraulic 

194 


CREEKS  THAT  MADE  MILLIONAIRES 


sluices  we  are  able  to  thaw  the  glacial  formation  down  to 
where  the  gold-bearing  gravel  lies.  We  can  strip  this  off 
with  the  water,  and  within  a month  or  so  the  air  will  thaw 
the  gravel  to  such  an  extent  that  we  can  force  it  into  the 
lifts  and  get  the  gold  out.  After  the  glacial  earth  has 
been  removed  we  find  that  the  gold-bearing  material 
runs  to  a depth  of  forty  feet  or  more.  1 1 varies  in  richness, 
but  there  is  so  much  of  it  that  we  expect  to  be  mining  for 
an  indefinite  period  to  come." 

This  far  north  the  mining  season  is  short,  running  only 
for  ninety  to  a hundred  days  of  summer. 

I spent  some  time  to-day  in  the  melting  room  of  the 
Merchants’  and  Miners’  Bank  here  at  Nome.  The  gold 
smelting  was  done  in  a little  room  adjoining  the  bank  in 
a furnace  that  looked  much  like  a kitchen  stove.  In  the 
shelves  around  the  walls  were  melting  pots  of  one  kind 
or  another,  and  under  them  were  bins  of  soda  and  other 
materials.  When  the  lid  of  the  stove  was  lifted  I observed 
that  it  was  lined  with  fire  clay,  and  1 was  shown  that  it  had 
a blowpipe  connected  with  it.  It  was  as  hot  as  the 
"burning  fiery  furnace’’  into  which  the  heathen  Nebu- 
chadnezzar cast  the  three  Israelites. 

The  assayer  was  a young  man  from  Sidney,  Ohio,  and 
a graduate  of  the  Ohio  State  University.  He  is  melting 
about  two  million  dollars’  worth  of  gold  every  year, 
watched  him  at  work.  First  he  put  some  soda  and  other 
chemicals  into  two  half-gallon  pots  of  graphite.  Then 
he  poured  in  about  two  quarts  of  gold  dust  and  nuggets, 
handling  the  stuff  as  if  it  were  so  much  cornmeal.  Setting 
the  pots  on  the  blazing  bed  of  the  furnace,  he  covered  the 
whole  and  sent  in  a draft  which  raised  the  temperature  to 
around  twenty-five  hundred  degrees  Fahrenheit.  It  takes 

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ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


only  eighteen  hundred  degrees  to  melt  gold,  so  the  stuff 
was  soon  a liquid  mass  which  boiled  and  bubbled.  When 
he  opened  the  furnace  the  stew  was  a golden  red  and  the 
pots  themselves  were  red  hot.  He  lifted  them  off  with 
pincers  and  poured  the  molten  mass  into  steel  moulds. 

As  the  gold  cooled,  the  impurities  in  it  rose  to  the  top  as 
slag,  which  crumbled  off,  leaving  a brick  of  pure  metal 
worth  thousands  of  dollars.  The  assayer  dumped  it  into 
a wooden  tub  filled  with  cold  water  and  a few  moments 
later  took  it  out  and  scrubbed  it  off  with  an  ordinary  nail 
brush.  He  then  wiped  it  with  a fifteen-cent  towel,  and 
showed  it  to  me  as  bright  and  shining  as  a new  wedding 
ring. 


196 


From  a shovelful  of  gravel  at  Anvil  Creek,  which  has  yielded  some 
$ 6,000,000 , my  daughter  “panned  out”  about  twenty-five  cents’  worth 
of  gold.  Jafet  Lindeberg,  one  of  the  three  “lucky  Swedes,”  stands  at  the 

right. 


Leading  parts  in  the  northland  drama  are  played  by  the  “huskies”  and 
the  “malamutes,”  the  chief  means  of  winter  transportation  and  the 
heroes  of  the  All-Alaska  Sweepstakes,  one  of  the  world’s  most  exciting 
sporting  events. 


CHAPTER  XXV 


THE  DOG  DERBY  OF  ALASKA 

I HAVE  just  returned  from  a ride  on  the  Pup-mobile 
over  the  Dog  Car  railroad  that  carries  one  from  Nome 
across  the  gold-bearing  plains  to  the  mountains.  The 
track  is  a narrow  gauge  built  for  steam  engines  by 
Charles  D.  Lane  in  1900.  The  road  did  not  pay  and  its 
only  trains  are  little  cars  drawn  by  dogs,  the  nearest 
thing  to  a railroad  now  running  on  the  Seward  Peninsula. 

The  Pup-mobile  consists  of  a platform  on  wheels  with  one 
or  two  rough  seats  fastened  to  it.  The  motive  power  is  i. 
team  of  from  seven  to  fifteen  dogs  harnessed  to  the  front 
of  the  car  by  a long  rope,  and  directed  by  the  voice  of  the 
driver,  who  calls  out  “Gee”  to  turn  them  to  the  right, 
“Haw”  to  turn  them  to  the  left,  and  “Mush”  to  make 
them  go  faster.  At  the  front  of  the  team  is  a leader  with 
his  traces  fastened  to  the  end  of  the  rope,  and  behind 
him,  two  abreast,  come  the  rest  of  the  team.  The  last 
two  are  perhaps  eight  or  ten  feet  from  the  car.  Each 
dog  has  a harness  much  like  that  used  for  a horse.  The 
collars  are  of  soft  leather,  well  padded,  and  the  tough 
leather  traces  are  fastened  to  the  collars  and  upheld  by 
straps  across  the  dog’s  back.  There  are  no  bridles  or 
halters,  and  the  sole  direction  is  by  the  voice  of  the  motor- 
man.  The  dogs  obey  quickly,  they  are  eager  to  run,  and 
seem  to  enjoy  pulling  the  car. 

Our  ride  was  out  over  the  tundra  which  lies  between  the 

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ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


foothills  of  the  mountains  and  Bering  Sea.  The  personal 
conductor  was  Mr.  Fred  M.  Ayer  of  the  Wild  Goose  Min- 
ing Company,  who  is  noted  as  a mining  engineer,  and  also 
as  the  owner  of  some  of  the  best  racing  and  freight  dogs  of 
this  part  of  the  world.  The  tundra  consists  of  the  de- 
composed vegetation  under  which  is  two  or  three  feet 
of  ice  mixed  with  muck  and  blue  clay.  There  are  many 
soft  spots  filled  with  water,  and  many  “ niggerheads,”  or 
round  masses  of  vegetation  that  turn  as  you  step  on  them. 
In  places  on  our  trip  the  roadbed  had  sunken  and  water 
covered  the  track.  At  such  places  the  dogs  ran  out  on  the 
banks  to  the  water,  and  sometimes  they  made  their  way 
through  the  shallower  pools.  Now  and  then  they  broke 
into  a gallop  and  we  fairly  flew  over  the  rails.  I am  told 
they  go  twice  as  fast  pulling  a sled  over  the  snow.  The 
names  of  the  dogs  were:  Rover,  Blizzard,  Leo,  Bubbles, 
Ginger,  Arrow,  and  Ring.  All  were  picked  animals  and 
all  have  taken  part  in  the  annual  races  to  Solomon  and 
Candle. 

The  dog  races  of  Nome  are  the  great  sporting  events  of 
the  Far  Northwest.  They  are  to  Alaska  what  the  Derby 
is  to  England.  They  are  talked  of  from  one  year’s  end 
to  the  other  and  as  the  time  approaches,  the  dogs  which  are 
to  compete  are  the  subjects  of  never-ending  discussion. 
Thousands  of  dollars  are  bet  on  the  races  and  nearly 
every  man  and  woman  has  a wager  of  some  kind  or  other. 

The  greatest  race  is  the  All-Alaska  Sweepstakes,  run 
every  April  from  Nome  to  Candle  City,  on  the  Arctic 
Ocean,  and  return.  I am  told  that  as  much  as  two  hun- 
dred thousand  dollars  have  been  bet  on  that  race,  and  that 
the  prizes  have  ranged  all  the  way  from  fifteen  hundred 
to  ten  thousand  dollars.  At  one  time,  when  the  prize  was 

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THE  DOG  DERBY  OF  ALASKA 


ten  thousand  dollars  in  gold,  the  money  was  presented 
in  a massive  silver  loving  cup.  The  owner  of  the  win- 
ning team  poured  the  coin  into  the  lap  of  the  driver, 
keeping  the  cup  only  as  a souvenir  of  the  event. 

The  distance  in  this  race  is  four  hundred  and  eight 
miles  and  the  usual  winning  time  is  between  three  and  four 
days.  In  1910  it  was  made  by  Colonel  Ramsey’s  team, 
driven  by  John  Johnson,  in  seventy-four  hours,  fourteen 
minutes  and  forty-two  seconds,  which  was  the  record 
until  Leonard  Seppala,  the  Norwegian  driver  of  Mr. 
Lindeberg’s  Siberian  team,  beat  it  by  forty  minutes  seven 
years  later. 

In  addition  to  the  All-Alaska  Sweepstakes  there  are 
races  every  March  from  Nome  to  the  Solomon  River  and 
back.  This  is  known  as  the  Solomon  Derby  and  is  over 
a distance  of  sixty-four  miles.  One  year’s  winning  team 
did  this  in  six  hours,  running  at  an  average  speed  of  more 
than  ten  miles  an  hour. 

Among  other  features  of  the  Solomon  River  Derby  is 
the  Burden  Race,  in  which  the  dogs  run  seventy-five 
miles,  carrying  one  passenger  and  fifty  pounds  of  baggage. 
The  passenger  is  usually  a woman,  the  wife,  daughter,  or 
sweetheart  of  the  owner  or  driver.  This  trip  has  been 
made  in  less  than  eight  hours.  The  Burden  Race  to 
Council  City  always  ends  in  a ball. 

1 asked  Mr.  Ayer,  winner  of  one  of  the  Solomon  Derbies, 
how  the  dogs  were  prepared  for  the  race.  He  replied: 
“They  are  trained,  groomed,  and  carefully  fed  for  months 
beforehand.  A part  of  the  diet  is  fish,  fresh  mutton,  and 
eggs,  and  during  the  race  they  get  one  meal  of  hamburger 
steak  per  day.  Camps  for  food  and  water  are  established 
along  the  road.  For  three  days  prior  to  the  race  they  are 

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ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


not  taken  out  of  the  kennels,  but  for  three  weeks  before 
that  time  they  are  exercised  in  long-distance  runs. 

“According  to  the  code  of  the  Nome  Kennel  Club,  to 
avoid  any  suspicion  of  cruelty,  the  drivers  must  bring 
back  every  dog,  dead  or  alive.  The  whip  usually  tied  to 
the  racing  sled  is  to  be  used  in  case  of  a fight  between  the 
dogs  but  never  to  urge  them  on  or  to  beat  them.  Blan- 
kets are  carried  along  for  the  dogs  as  well  as  green  veils 
for  their  eyes  should  the  sunlit  snow  be  too  glaring  for 
them,  and  flannel  moccasins  for  their  feet  in  case  the  ice 
cuts  them  up.  At  the  relay  camps  at  night  every  dog 
gets  an  alcohol  rub.” 

Continuing  in  response  to  my  questions,  Mr.  Ayer  said: 

“ I do  not  think  that  the  native  Alaska  dogs  are  the 
fastest  or  best  for  racing  purposes.  My  team  is  mostly 
made  up  of  fox  hounds,  and,  as  a rule,  they  can  beat  the 
malamutes  in  pulling,  endurance,  and  speed.  I never 
carry  a whip  and  do  not  yell  at  the  dogs.  They  will 
respond  to  a word,  and  it  is  easy  to  keep  them  at  a speed 
of  from  eleven  to  fourteen  miles  an  hour.  They  enjoy 
the  race  and  seem  to  realize  what  is  expected  of  them. 
They  will  be  as  fresh  at  the  end  of  fifty  miles  as  at  the 
beginning.” 

Most  of  the  racing  of  Alaska  is  under  the  direction  of 
the  Nome  Kennel  Club,  founded  by  Albert  Fink  to  im- 
prove the  dogs  used  to  transport  miners  and  supplies. 
This  club  was  organized  before  racing  was  thought  of, 
but  the  sport  is  doing  much  to  improve  the  strain.  Of 
late  years  many  Russian  stag-hounds,  Great  Danes,  and 
Missouri  bird-hounds  have  been  brought  in.  Crossing 
them  with  the  native  stock  tends  to  produce  better  ani- 
mals. There  are  here  a large  number  of  Siberian  dogs 


200 


THE  DOG  DERBY  OF  ALASKA 


which  are  smaller  than  the  malamutes  and  look  like  wolf 
dogs  in  miniature.  They  are  noted  for  their  endurance. 

The  races  are  famed  for  their  fairness  and  absence  of 
trickery.  The  only  case  in  which  an  attempt  has  been 
made  to  beat  the  favourite  team  by  fraud  was  in  the  Candle 
Race  of  1914,  when  a blanket  stuck  with  porcupine  quills 
was  laid  on  the  track  and  lightly  covered  with  snow,  so 
that  any  dogs  that  ran  over  it  would  have  been  lamed. 
The  plotters,  who  had  directed  their  own  teams  to  go 
out  of  the  course  to  avoid  this  trap,  would  surely  have 
won  had  not  the  blanket  been  found  just  before  the  race. 

During  the  long  winter  every  postal  card  and  every 
letter,  newspaper,  and  magazine  that  comes  to  Nome  has 
to  be  brought  over  fifteen  hundred  miles  of  ice  and  snow 
by  dog  teams.  The  mail  is  taken  from  Fairbanks  to 
Ruby,  Iditarod,  and  Fort  Gibbon  by  dogs,  and,  in  fact, 
the  whole  of  the  interior  of  this  great  territory  is  de- 
pendent upon  dogs  for  its  winter  transportation.  In 
the  summer  the  dogs  are  sometimes  used  by  the  pros- 
pectors as  pack  animals,  and  at  the  time  of  a gold 
stampede  their  value  rapidly  rises,  especially  if  a stampede 
occurs  during  the  winter.  In  the  summer  time  you  can 
get  a good  dog  for  twenty-five  dollars.  In  the  winter  you 
may  have  to  pay  one  hundred  dollars  for  the  same  animal. 

There  are  men  in  every  large  town  who  do  little  else 
than  drive  dog  teams.  The  winter  mail  and  freight  are 
taken  across  the  country  on  narrow  sleds  about  sixteen 
feet  long.  Such  sleds  will  hold  eight  hundred  pounds,  and 
it  will  take  from  nine  to  nineteen  dogs  to  haul  them.  The 
mail  contractors  are  paid  by  the  month,  some  of  them 
making  as  much  as  ten  dollars  a day. 

One  of  the  dog-freighters  tells  me  that  the  Mackenzie 


201 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


River  husky  is  about  the  best  all-around  trail  dog  to  be 
found  in  the  North.  The  husky,  like  the  malamute,  is  a 
cross  between  a dog  and  a wolf,  and  is  an  animal  long 
known  in  Alaska.  It  was  used  by  the  Indians  before  the 
Hudson’s  Bay  Company  came  to  the  Northwest  three  cen- 
turies ago.  The  husky  is  very  hardy  and  noted  for  its 
good  disposition. 

I asked  how  the  dogs  are  handled  on  the  trail. 

“Each  driver  has  his  own  methods,”  was  the  reply. 
“It  is  very  important  that  the  animals  be  treated  well. 
If  the  trip  is  to  be  long  and  hard,  the  dogs  should  be 
favoured  for  two  or  three  days  at  the  start.  This  is  to 
get  them  seasoned  so  that  they  will  last  throughout  the 
journey.  A good  driver  will  save  his  team  in  every 
possible  way.  He  will  ride  only  when  going  down  hill, 
and  most  of  the  time  he  will  run  in  front,  keeping  his  sled 
in  the  trail  by  the  gee-pole.  In  cold  weather  one  would 
rather  run  or  walk  than  ride.  I have  driven  fifty-four 
miles  in  a day  with  the  thermometer  53  degrees  below 
zero.  I ran  almost  the  whole  day  and  at  the  end  it  seemed 
to  me  as  though  my  lungs  were  scalded.  I have  sledded 
when  the  thermometer  was  72  degrees  below  zero.” 

“ How  many  hours  can  you  drive  in  a day?” 

“We  try  to  make  eight  or  ten  hours,  but  it  is  often  best 
to  drive  only  six.  The  stops  have  to  be  made  according 
to  the  trail  and  the  roadhouses.  We  always  shelter  the 
dogs  at  night  if  possible,  and  most  of  the  roadhouses  have 
kennels  for  them.  If  there  is  no  shelter  the  native  dog 
will  bury  himself  in  the  snow  or  climb  upon  something 
above  it.  He  bites  the  icicles  out  of  his  toes  when  he 
stops  for  the  night.  The  feet  of  a dog  are  as  important 
a factor  in  travelling  as  the  feet  of  a horse.  A close-built 

202 


THE  DOG  DERBY  OF  ALASKA 


foot  with  round  balls  and  thick  skin  is  essential  to  a trail 
dog.  There  must  also  be  a very  little  hair  between  the 
toes,  otherwise  the  snow  catches  there  and  balls  up  and 
forms  icicles  that  lame  him.” 

“What  do  you  feed  the  dogs  on  such  trips?” 

“We  usually  carry  dried  salmon  along  to  feed  on  the 
trail,  and,  at  the  end  of  the  trip,  give  them  cooked  meals 
of  rice,  tallow,  and  fish.  They  get  but  one  meal  a day, 
unless  the  running  is  hard,  when  they  have  a lunch  of  dried 
salmon  at  noon.  In  the  latter  case  it  is  necessary  to  let 
them  rest  two  hours  after  lunch,  otherwise  they  get  sick.” 
The  stories  of  Alaskan  dogs  are  legion,  and  their  exploits 
surpass  those  of  the  famous  St.  Bernards  of  the  Alps. 
There  are  huskies  and  malamutes  which  have  travelled 
tens  of  thousands  of  miles  in  harness,  and  tales  of  how 
they  have  saved  the  lives  of  their  owners  when  almost 
frozen  to  death  or  lost  in  the  snow.  Baldy  of  Nome  is  the 
hero  of  one  of  these  stories.  Baldy  was  the  leader  of 
Scotty  Allan’s  team  in  the  All-Alaska  Sweepstakes. 
During  the  race  he  felt  that  the  sled  was  running  light, 
and,  looking  back,  could  see  no  signs  of  his  master.  He 
thereupon  turned  the  team  and  went  back  over  the  trail 
several  miles  until  he  found  Scotty  lying  pale  and  uncon- 
scious on  the  snow.  He  had  been  stunned  by  running 
into  one  of  the  iron  posts  marking  the  trail.  Baldy 
stopped  and  licked  the  pallid  face  of  the  senseless  man. 
He  then  set  up  a howl  and  scratched  away  at  his  driver’s 
breast  until  Scotty  came  to,  and,  crawling  back  on  the 
sled,  motioned  him  to  go  on  with  the  race.  This  Baldy 
did  and  came  out  ahead. 

The  story  of  this  dog  has  been  told  in  a little  book,  en- 
titled “Baldy  of  Nome,”  written  by  Mrs.  Esther  Birdsall 

203 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


Darling,  who  has,  better  than  any  other  writer,  com- 
memorated the  virtues  of  the  Alaskan  dog.  Mrs.  Darling 
has  owned  several  teams  that  have  won  the  All-Alaska 
Sweepstakes.  Every  dog  lover  will  appreciate  this  one 
of  her  poems: 

Sometimes  when  life  has  gone  wrong  with  you 
And  the  world  seems  a dreary  place, 

Has  your  dog  ever  silently  crept  to  your  feet 
His  yearning  eyes  turned  to  your  face? 

Has  he  made  you  feel  that  he  understands, 

And  all  that  he  asks  of  you 
Is  to  share  your  lot,  be  it  good  or  ill, 

With  a chance  to  be  loyal  and  true? 

Are  you  branded  a failure?  He  does  not  know — 

A sinner?  He  does  not  care — 

You’re  master  to  him — that’s  all  that  counts — 

A word,  and  his  day  is  fair. 

Your  birth  and  your  station  are  nothing  to  him; 

A palace  and  hut  are  the  same; 

And  his  love  is  yours  in  honour  and  peace, 

And  it’s  yours  through  disaster  and  shame. 

Though  others  forget  you  and  pass  you  by. 

He  is  ever  your  faithful  friend — 

Ready  to  give  you  the  best  that  is  his. 

Unselfishly,  unto  the  end. 


204 


' i .m0T 


From  October  to  May,  the  United  States  mail  carrier  making  the  last  lap 
on  the  overland  trail  from  Fairbanks,  over  seven  hundred  miles  away,  is 
the  man  most  welcome  in  Nome. 


The  steam  laundry  at  Treadwell  makes  deliveries  by  dog  team  the  year 
round.  Dogs  are  often  used  as  pack  animals  in  summer  as  well  as  in 
winter  by  prospectors  and  people  living  in  the  hills. 


Interest  in  the  sweepstakes  has  improved  the  breeding  of  the  racing 
dogs.  Well-bred  pups  like  these  are  in  great  demand.  A number  of 
Alaskan  dogs  saw  service  in  the  Alps  during  the  World  War. 


The  Pupmobile  is  the  nearest  thing  to  a railroad  on  Seward  Peninsula. 
The  dogs  gallop  along  with  their  little  car  on  rails  laid  for  an  unsuccessful 
steam  road  into  the  gold  country  about  Nome. 


/ 


CHAPTER  XXVI 


REINDEER  MEAT  FOR  AMERICAN  MARKETS 

THE  day  is  coming  when  reindeer  meat  will  be 
sold  in  our  American  markets  just  like  beef  and 
mutton.  This  reindeer  meat  will  come  from 
Alaska.  It  will  be  shipped  in  cold-storage 
steamers  and  trains  to  all  towns  of  the  United  States  and 
will  form  the  basis  of  a large  packing  industry. 

There  are  now  about  two  hundred  and  fifty  thousand 
reindeer  in  the  territory,  and  if  the  herds  continue  their 
present  rate  of  increase  it  is  only  a matter  of  a few  years 
before  they  will  pass  the  million  mark.  It  is  estimated 
that  Alaska  can  support  ten  million  reindeer,  and  eventu- 
ally the  American  housewife  should  be  able  to  buy  juicy 
steaks  and  roasts  from  Alaska  as  cheaply  as  those  from 
our  Western  prairies.  In  fact,  the  industry  has  already 
reached  the  point  where  the  Alaskan  reindeer  meat 
packers  are  urging  Congress  to  protect  them  by  a high 
tariff  from  competition  in  Norway  and  Sweden,  which 
enjoy  low  costs  of  production  and  cheap  freight  rates  to 
the  United  States. 

The  reindeer  meat  packing  industry  of  Alaska  is  at  its 
beginning.  The  first  shipments  were  made  about  eight 
years  ago,  when  twenty-five  reindeer  carcasses  were 
shipped  to  Seattle.  The  meat  was  sold  at  from  twenty 
to  twenty-five  cents  per  pound,  and  sales  have  increased 
each  year  since.  Just  now  they  are  beginning  to  slaughter 

205 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


the  deer  for  this  season’s  shipment.  I saw  the  work 
going  on  in  a slaughter  house  back  of  Nome.  The  butcher 
shop  is  a large  galvanized-iron  building  with  corrals  ad- 
joining and  passageways  through  which  the  deer  are 
dragged  into  the  slaughter  house.  1 climbed  to  theaoof 
and  looked  at  the  animals.  There  were  fifty  in  each 
corral.  They  were  as  fat  as  butter  and  in  splendid  con- 
dition. These  reindeer  had  enormous  antlers,  but  they 
were  not  at  all  fierce.  I had  expected  to  see  larger  and 
heavier  animals.  Though  of  the  average  reindeer  size 
they  were  not  taller  than  three-month-old  Jersey  calves. 
The  dressed  carcass  usually  weighs  about  one  hundred 
and  fifty  pounds,  but  government  experts  predict  that 
careful  breeding  will  shortly  double  this  weight. 

The  deer  I saw  slaughtered  belonged  to  a stock  com- 
pany organized  at  Nome  to  develop  the  industry.  The 
company  is  a close  corporation,  with  an  authorized  capital 
of  seven  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  dollars  owned  by 
men  of  large  means.  One,  for  instance,  is  Jafet  Linde- 
berg,  who,  as  I have  said,  was  employed  by  the  United 
States  Government  to  bring  a herd  of  reindeer  from  Nor- 
way to  Alaska  about  1898,  during  the  time  of  the  great 
famine  in  Dawson.  The  idea  then  was  to  land  the  rein- 
deer on  the  Alaska  coast  and  drive  them  over  the  moun- 
tains to  the  Klondike  to  feed  the  starving  American 
miners.  The  deer  were  landed,  but  the  undertaking  was 
not  a success,  as  far  as  giving  the  miners  a large  supply  of 
food  was  concerned. 

“ Do  you  think  a market  for  the  meat  can  be  created 
in  the  United  States?”  I inquired  of  Mr.  Lindeberg. 

“Yes,”  he  answered.  “There  is  already  such  a market 
in  Europe.  Norway  and  Sweden,  as  well  as  Finland  and 

206 


REINDEER  MEAT  FOR  AMERICAN  MARKETS 


Russia,  have  been  shipping  large  quantities  of  reindeer 
meat  for  years  to  the  chief  European  centres  and  even  to 
the  United  States.  Once  when  I was  at  Panama  I saw 
reindeer  meat  from  Norway  among  the  government 
sup^ies  bought  for  the  Canal  Zone  employees.  The 
northern  part  of  Russia  consumes  more  reindeer  meat 
than  either  beef  or  mutton. 

“With  lower  freight  rates,  I expect  deer  meat  to  com- 
pete with  the  present  domestic  and  foreign  meat  supplies 
of  the  United  States.  It  is  delicious,  and  there  will  be 
a demand  for  it  among  the  meat-eaters  who  like  to  have 
a change  of  diet  now  and  then.” 

The  reindeer  meat  packers  say  that  the  day  will  come 
when  the  packing  houses  here  will  have  as  many  by- 
products as  those  of  Chicago.  At  present  they  are  able 
to  sell  the  skins  and  horns  only,  in  addition  to  the  meat, 
but  in  the  future  the  blood  will  be  used  for  tankage,  the 
hoofs  for  the  making  of  glue,  and  certain  of  the  bones 
for  other  purposes.  The  horns  are  sold  by  the  pound 
to  men  in  Nome,  who  ship  them  away  to  be  made  into 
knife-handles.  The  hides  are  in  demand  for  buckskin 
gloves  and  for  shoe  uppers.  Some  of  the  skins  are  tanned 
and  sold  as  furs.  Dyed  reindeer  fur  is  more  beautiful 
than  the  ponyskin  coats  worn  in  the  States.  The  fur  is 
finer  and  the  skins  are  lighter. 

More  than  thirty  years  ago  sixteen  reindeer  were 
brought  across  Bering  Strait  from  Siberia  to  establish  the 
first  reindeer  colony  at  Unalaska  in  the  Aleutian  Islands. 
That  experiment  was  not  successful  and  it  was  some  years 
later  before  a real  start  was  made.  The  Government 
began  to  import  them  in  1892  and  continued  for  ten  years, 
being  stopped  by  Russia’s  prohibition  of  further  exporta- 

207 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


tion  of  the  animals.  In  1902  nine  herds  had  been  es- 
tablished and  the  Government  owned  some  two  thousand 
deer  worth  about  fifty-six  thousand  dollars.  In  addition, 
the  natives  had  twenty-eight  hundred  valued  at  seventy- 
one  thousand  dollars.  To-day  there  are  one  hundrecfcand 
f\fty  thousand  reindeer  in  native  hands. 

The  cost  to  the  United  States  Government  of  introduc- 
ing reindeer  into  Alaska  was  three  hundred  and  thirty-five 
thousand  dollars.  All  told,  only  twelve  hundred  and 
eighty  head  were  imported.  Besides  the  more  than  two 
hundred  thousand  there  now,  approximately  a hundred 
thousand  have  been  killed  for  food  or  for  shipment  to  the 
States.  As  it  is  estimated  that  the  total  increase  from  the 
original  reindeer  herds  has  been  worth  six  million  dollars, 
the  original  investment  of  the  Government  has  increased 
about  two  thousand  per  cent,  in  value  in  thirty  years. 

The  industry  of  reindeer  raising  has  been  developed 
through  a system  of  apprenticeship.  If  a native  youth 
wants  to  become  a herd  owner,  he  makes  a contract  with 
the  school  authorities  to  take  a year’s  training,  at  the  end 
of  which  he  is  given  four  female  and  two  male  deer.  At 
the  end  of  the  second  year  he  may  keep  five  females  and 
three  males,  with  annual  increases  until  the  fourth  year, 
when  he  is  given  a herder’s  certificate  and  left  with  six 
females  and  four  males.  He  may  then  use  the  surplus 
males  for  food  or  sale.  When  his  herd  is  between  fifty 
and  a hundred  and  fifty  strong  the  herder  is  required  to 
take  on  an  apprentice  and  put  him  through  the  period  of 
training,  and  as  his  herd  increases  he  must  add  more 
apprentices. 

According  to  the  present  laws,  the  Eskimos  and  Indians 
cannot  sell  their  female  deer,  and  private  parties  can 

208 


The  reindeer  furnishes  food,  clothing,  transportation,  and  an  income  to 
the  Eskimos,  for  whom  the  animals  were  introduced  into  Alaska.  Young 
Eskimos  are  apprenticed  to  expert  herdsmen  until  prepared  to  start  herds 
of  their  own.  This  is  one  of  the  prize  winners  at  a reindeer  fair. 


There  are  already  a quarter  of  a million  reindeer  in  Alaska,  which  some 
day  may  support  ten  million.  In  summer,  driven  by  mosquitoes  and  a 
craving  for  salt,  the  herds  make  straight  for  the  sea  coast. 


Alaska  reindeer  meat  is  regularly  shipped  to  the  States  from  Nome 
where  slaughter  packing  houses  have  been  established  and  where  it  is 
expected  the  industry  will  some  day  furnish  a considerable  portion  of  our 
food  supply. 


REINDEER  MEAT  FOR  AMERICAN  MARKETS 


acquire  reindeer  only  from  the  Laplanders  who  brought 
them  over  and  the  missions  which  have  some  deer  of  their 
own  independent  of  those  belonging  to  the  Eskimos. 

As  to  the  number  of  deer  Alaska  can  support  that  has 
been  put  by  the  experts  at  a possible  ten  million.  The 
whole  country  is  well  adapted  to  reindeer  raising  and  a lot 
of  it  is  fit  for  nothing  else.  All  told,  it  is  estimated  that 
there  are  in  the  territory  two  hundred  thousand  square 
miles,  or  an  area  nearly  five  times  as  large  as  the  state  of 
New  York,  upon  which  the  animals  can  pasture.  They 
graze  upon  a peculiar  kind  of  yellowish  moss  which  covers 
the  greater  part  of  northern  Alaska.  It  is  hard  and  tough 
and  rather  like  coral.  It  seldom  grows  over  three  inches 
high,  but  spreads  out  over  the  ground.  The  reindeer  will 
dig  down  under  the  snow  with  their  hoofs  to  get  at  it. 

Among  the  men  who  have  helped  to  build  up  the  rein- 
deer industry  in  Alaska  is  Mr.  W.  T.  Lopp,  head  of  the 
government  schools  of  the  territory.  Mr.  Lopp  proposed 
to  bring  deer  across  Bering  Strait  from  Siberia  at  about 
the  same  time  that  Dr.  Sheldon  Jackson  brought  his  first 
deer  to  the  Aleutian  Islands.  A little  later  a number  of 
deer  were  brought  from  Siberia  and  put  in  charge  of  Mr. 
Lopp  at  a station  near  Bering  Strait,  and  from  then  until 
now  he  has  had  much  to  do  with  the  reindeer  owned  by 
the  natives.  All  of  the  reindeer  herds  so  owned  are  under 
the  charge  of  the  Bureau  of  Education,  and  to-day  Mr. 
Lopp  may  be  said  to  be  the  patriarchal  head  of  the  in- 
dustry. The  Eskimos,  for  whom  Mr.  Lopp  has  done  so 
much,  call  him  “Tom  Gorrah,”  or  “Tom,  the  good  man.” 

At  one  time,  Mr.  Lopp  with  four  Eskimos  drove  a herd 
of  deer  seven  hundred  and  fifty  miles  across  country  to 
relieve  a party  of  whalers  who  were  starving  on  the  coast 

209 


ALASKA-OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


of  the  Arctic  Ocean.  This  trip  lasted  two  months,  with 
the  average  temperature  twenty  or  more  degrees  below 
zero.  Part  of  the  journey  was  over  the  floating  ice  of 
Kotzebue  Sound,  and  when  they  got  to  the  end  of  the  ice 
the  reindeer  had  to  swim  a short  distance  to  the  mainland. 

At  first  Siberians  were  imported  to  teach  the  natives  to 
handle  the  deer,  but  they  did  not  succeed,  and  it  was  not 
until  Mr.  Lopp  trained  the  young  Eskimos  that  they  were 
able  to  make  much  progress.  To-day  they  are  expert  in 
breeding  and  caring  for  them.  They  have  large  herds, 
some  men  owning  as  many  as  sixteen  hundred  reindeer. 
One  such  might  be  called  the  Eskimo  reindeer  king.  He  is 
one  of  the  men  who  accompanied  Mr.  Lopp  in  his  rescue 
of  the  whalers.  His  deer  are  worth  forty  thousand  dollars. 

Said  Mr.  Lopp  to  me:  “ Deer  herding  can  be  learned  as 
easily  as  sheep  herding,  and  the  Eskimo  boys  readily  take 
to  the  business.  Six  or  eight  herders  can  take  care  of  a 
thousand  head  of  deer.  The  animals  have  to  be  driven 
about  to  where  the  moss  patches  are  and  watched  lest 
they  stray  too  far  away.  The  herders  live  in  tents  or 
temporary  huts.  In  the  winter  the  deer  are  liable  to  stray 
several  miles  from  camp,  and  the  boys  go  out  in  the  morn- 
ing to  round  them  up.  Some  of  the  animals  have  bells 
on  them.  They  are  easily  frightened  and  will  scatter  like 
a flock  of  sheep  if  approached  by  dogs.  They  chew  the 
cud  like  a cow,  and  if  left  to  themselves  will  feed  for  a time 
and  then  lie  down.” 

The  herders  do  not  drive  the  reindeer  but  follow  them. 
In  summer  the  deer  make  straight  for  the  seashore,  not 
only  because  they  crave  the  salt,  which  they  do  not  find  in 
the  interior,  but  because  they  are  driven  by  the  mosqui- 
toes. The  sea  breezes  blow  away  the  mosquitoes. 


210 


REINDEER  MEAT  FOR  AMERICAN  MARKETS 


Mr.  Lopp  tells  me  that  attempts  to  use  the  reindeer  to 
transport  freight  and  mail  have  not  been  successful. 
Many  of  the  stories  that  have  been  published  as  to  the 
speed  of  the  reindeer  are,  he  says,  untrue.  The  ordinary 
deer  cannot  go  more  than  forty  miles  a day,  and  it  cannot 
make  more  than  twenty-five  miles  a day  on  long  journeys. 
The  reindeer  is  not  hardy,  and  five  or  six  days  is  as  long  as 
one  should  be  driven  at  a time. 

“The  trouble  is,”  said  Mr.  Lopp,  "the  deer  has  to  get 
its  own  food  on  the  way.  The  nutritive  qualities  of  the 
moss  are  not  as  great  as  those  of  hay.  You  would  not 
expect  to  drive  a horse  a long  distance  on  hay,  and  you 
cannot  drive  a reindeer  a long  distance  on  moss,  especially 
if  it  has  to  travel  all  day  and  hunt  for  its  moss  at  night. 
Only  in  the  coldest  parts  of  Alaska  are  reindeer  used  as 
teams,  and  there  by  the  Eskimos  only.  The  usual  sled 
load  is  about  three  hundred  pounds,  although  as  much  as 
sixteen  hundred  pounds  has  been  carried  by  a single  deer. 

“An  interesting  development  in  the  reindeer  industry 
of  Alaska,”  continued  Mr.  Lopp,  “is  the  holding  of  two 
annual  reindeer  fairs.  One  of  these  is  held  at  Akiak  on 
the  Upper  Kuskokwim  River,  and  the  other  at  Mary’s 
Igloo  on  the  Seward  Peninsula.  These  fairs  are  like  the 
great  stock  shows  of  the  United  States,  but  their  only 
stock  is  reindeer.  The  Eskimos  bring  their  deer  in  from 
many  miles  around.  They  compete  for  prizes  in  lassoing, 
butchering,  driving,  feeding,  and  herding.  They  have 
races  of  many  kinds,  and  there  are  also  prizes  for  the  best 
kind  of  harness,  sleds,  and  fur  clothing.  The  prizes  are 
contributed  by  the  merchants  of  Nome,  Seattle,  and  else- 
where. The  fairs,  which  last  for  several  days,  are  the 
great  events  of  the  Eskimo  year.” 


21  i 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


The  last  Mary’s  Igloo  fair  began  January  1 1 th  and 
lasted  several  days.  Part  of  the  time  the  thermometer 
was  thirty-five  degrees  below  zero,  yet  the  people  slept  on 
the  snow  in  tents,  without  fire,  and  all  were  comfortable 
in  their  sleeping  bags  of  reindeer  skin.  The  first  event 
was  the  butchering  of  deer  by  three  different  methods  and 
a discussion  as  to  the  best.  In  this  contest  two  Eskimos 
drove  their  knives  to  the  heart  at  one  blow.  Another 
severed  the  jugular  vein  at  the  first  stroke. 

The  lassoing  contest  ran  through  three  days,  and  was 
won  by  the  man  who  lassoed  the  most  deer  in  ninety 
minutes.  There  were  eight  hundred  deer  in  the  herd  used 
for  this  purpose,  and  the  winner  lassoed  eleven  in  the  time 
allowed. 

The  wild  deer  driving  contest  had  fourteen  entries. 
Each  of  the  contestants  had  to  enter  a herd,  and  rope, 
throw,  harness,  hitch  up,  and  drive  a hornless,  unbroken 
bull  one  half  mile  to  the  river  and  return.  He  had  then 
to  unhitch,  unharness,  and  remove  the  halter,  all  un- 
assisted. 

Altogether  these  fairs  are  proving  a great  success,  and 
they  promise  to  increase  in  interest  and  profit  as  the  years 
go  on. 

Here  is  the  way  Uncle  Sam  himself  sums  up  the  reindeer 
industry  of  Alaska  and  what  it  has  done  for  the  Eskimo: 

“The  object  of  the  importation  was  originally  to  furnish 
a source  of  supply  for  food  and  clothing  to  the  Alaskan 
Eskimos  in  the  vicinity  of  Bering  Strait,  nomadic  hunters 
and  fishermen  eking  out  a precarious  existence  upon  the 
rapidly  disappearing  game  animals  and  fish.  Within  less 
than  a generation  the  reindeer  industry  has  advanced 
through  one  entire  stage  of  civilization  the  Eskimos  in- 

212 


St.  John’s  in  the  Wilderness  at  Allakakat  is  right  on  the  Arctic  Circle, 
is  the  farthest  north  Episcopal  mission  and  was  erected  by  Archdeacon 
Stuck,  noted  for  his  work  among  the  natives. 


Maybe  one  reason  Eskimo  children  are  always  so  jolly  is  the  fact  that 
their  mothers  never  punish  them.  These  people  believe  the  soul  of  some 
ancestor,  dwelling  in  every  child,  will  haunt  the  harsh  parent. 


REINDEER  MEAT  FOR  AMERICAN  MARKETS 


habiting  the  vast  grazing  lands  from  Point  Barrow  to  the 
Aleutian  Islands;  it  has  raised  them  from  the  primitive  to 
the  pastoral  stage;  from  nomadic  hunters  to  civilized  men, 
having  in  their  herds  of  reindeer  assured  support  for  them- 
selves and  opportunity  to  accumulate  wealth.” 


213 


CHAPTER  XXVII 


AMONG  THE  ESKIMOS 

I SAW  my  first  Eskimos  along  the  Lower  Yukon.  I met 
them  again  on  the  Island  of  St.  Michael,  and  I find 
them  here  on  the  Seward  Peninsula,  where  there  are 
said  to  be  thirty-five  hundred. 

Many  people  think  that  most  of  our  Eskimos  live  along 
the  coast  of  the  Arctic  Ocean.  This  is  not  true.  Four 
fifths  of  them  are  to  be  found  south  of  the  Arctic  Circle  and 
the  majority  of  them  live  on  the  coastal  plains  sloping 
down  to  Bering  Sea.  There  are  many  Eskimos  in  the 
deltas  of  the  Kuskokwim  and  Yukon  rivers  and  their 
settlements  are  to  be  found  also  on  the  Alaskan  Peninsula. 

So  much  has  been  published  about  the  Eskimos,  one 
might  think  them  an  important  part  of  the  human  race. 
As  a matter  of  fact,  they  number,  all  told,  not  more  than 
thirty  thousand,  and  of  these  only  ten  or  fifteen  thousand 
live  in  Alaska.  There  are  a few  thousand  in  Greenland, 
some  of  whom  are  civilized;  a few  in  Labrador,  also  civil- 
ized, and  a greater  number  scattered  through  the  northern 
part  of  the  Canadian  Dominion  from  Hudson  Bay  to  the 
mouth  of  the  Mackenzie  River.  There  are  also  a few  in 
Siberia,  but  nowhere  are  they  of  any  importance  except  as 
a racial  curiosity  and  in  a small  way  as  trappers  of  furs 
for  the  world’s  markets. 

The  Eskimos  have  a style  of  dress  all  their  own,  but 
many  of  them,  especially  in  the  towns,  wear  much  the 

214 


AMONG  THE  ESKIMOS 


same  kind  of  clothing  as  the  whites.  Many  of  the  women 
wear  blouse-like  parkas  of  calico  trimmed  with  fur  and 
hoods  of  cloth  fringed  with  wolverine  which  stands  out 
from  their  faces.  This  is  the  most  popular  fur  for  parkas, 
because  in  winter  the  breath  does  not  freeze  into  icicles 
upon  it  as  on  other  furs.  The  parka  comes  down  over 
trousers  tucked  into  long  boots,  or  mukluks,  of  hide. 

No  matter  what  their  dress,  it  is  easy  to  tell  the  Eski- 
mos. Their  faces  are  Mongolian  in  type.  I have  seen 
many  just  like  them  in  my  travels  through  Siberia  and 
along  the  Great  Wall  in  north  China.  The  Eskimos’ 
eyes  slant  like  those  of  the  people  of  the  Desert  of  Gobi 
and  their  faces  are  of  the  same  bronze  or  copper  colour. 
They  are  lighter  than  the  North  American  Indians  but 
they  have  the  same  high  cheekbones.  Their  flat  faces  are 
square  rather  than  long  with  little  fat  noses.  The  young 
men  and  women  have  rosy  cheeks,  and  their  lips  are 
bright  red.  Most  of  the  elderly  women  have  tattooed 
stripes  extending  vertically  from  the  lower  lip  down 
the  chin  to  indicate  that  they  are  married,  and  now  and 
then  you  see  a man  with  a cuff  button  of  bone  thrust 
through  the  flesh  near  the  edge  of  his  mouth.  The  Nome 
Eskimos  have  black  eyes  and  jet-black  hair,  which  the 
women  wear  in  long  braids  down  their  backs.  These 
people  have  a friendly,  honest  look.  They  are  full  of  fun 
and  it  takes  but  little  to  bring  out  a smile.  They  are 
naturally  intelligent  and  good  traders. 

I wish  I could  show  you  the  Eskimo  babies.  They  are 
the  brightest,  sweetest,  and  I might  add  the  dirtiest, 
little  pieces  of  human  clay  that  I have  yet  met  with  in 
my  travels  over  the  world.  They  are  full  of  fun  and 
romp  about,  mimicking  their  fathers  and  mothers  and 

215 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


everybody  else.  Most  of  them  are  dressed  in  furs,  and 
some  look  like  large  fuzzy  balls.  As  their  parents  have  a 
susperstition  that  if  the  children  be  photographed  their 
souls  will  be  under  the  control  of  the  photographer,  even 
though  he  be  far  away,  they  run  from  the  camera.  It 
required  considerable  coaxing  for  me  to  get  my  Eskimo 
children’s  photographs,  and  I was  able  to  succeed  only  by 
pointing  the  camera  in  another  direction  and  then  turning 
quickly  and  making  the  snapshot  before  they  understood 
they  were  being  taken. 

Another  Eskimo  superstition  is  the  belief  that  in  every 
child  is  the  soul  of  one  of  its  ancestors.  Therefore,  they 
will  never  punish  their  children  for  fear  of  insulting  some 
respected  great  grandfather  or  mother.  A story  is  told 
in  Nome  of  an  Eskimo  whose  son  was  rather  severely 
thrashed  by  a teacher  at  one  of  the  government  schools. 
The  father  promptly  shot  the  schoolmaster.  Then  a tri- 
bal council  was  called  to  see  what  was  to  be  done,  for  the 
Eskimos  knew  the  man  would  be  punished  by  the  United 
States.  By  the  decision  of  the  council,  the  murderer  was 
made  to  dig  his  own  grave  and  then  he  chose  his  nephew  to 
shoot  him  as  he  stood  beside  it. 

Many  of  the  natives  now  speak  English,  and  their 
children  go  to  the  government  schools.  Twenty-one 
schools  are  maintained  on  the  Seward  Peninsula,  and 
about  eight  hundred  Eskimo  children  attend  them.  Some 
of  them  have  good  minds  and  many  reach  a high  profi- 
ciency in  reading  and  writing.  One  of  the  little  girls  re- 
cently went  from  here  to  Plattsburg,  New  York,  where  she 
entered  the  fifth  grade.  In  a class  below  her  in  the  same 
Eskimo  school  here  in  Alaska  were  two  boys,  one  a full- 
blooded  Eskimo  and  the  other  the  son  of  a white  man. 

216 


AMONG  THE  ESKIMOS 


The  white  boy,  who  had  been  to  school  in  the  States, 
thought  he  could  easily  beat  the  native.  At  the  end  of  the 
first  week  the  Eskimo  was  at  the  head  of  the  class,  a place 
he  held  throughout  the  year.  That  boy  studied  arith- 
metic, including  percentage,  interest,  commission,  freight 
and  profit  and  loss.  He  could  calculate  the  cost  of 
whalebone  from  the  time  it  came  from  the  whale  until  it 
was  turned  into  goods  and  brought  back  to  Alaska. 

These  people  are  always  smiling  or  laughing.  They 
sing,  and  seem  to  be  fond  of  music  and  dancing.  I went 
last  night  to  one  of  their  dances  held  in  an  old  schoolhouse 
not  far  from  the  Eskimo  section  of  Nome.  The  school- 
house  had  but  one  room  about  thirty  feet  square.  It  was 
walled  with  windows,  and  the  light  of  the  midnight  sun 
made  the  interior  as  bright  as  day.  On  a bench  under  the 
windows  sat  the  musicians,  eight  Eskimos  dressed  in  na- 
tive costume,  and  the  room  was  filled  with  dancers.  The 
music  came  from  drums  like  tambourines,  each  consisting 
of  a hoop  as  big  around  as  a dishpan  over  which  skin  was 
tightly  stretched.  Each  man  pounded  his  drum  with  a 
little  white  rod  the  length  of  a walking  stick.  Some  of  the 
drums  were  larger  than  others,  and  the  eight  musicians 
produced  all  the  notes  of  the  octave.  They  sang  as  they 
played  and  kept  perfect  time. 

The  first  dance  was  by  five  sturdy  young  men  clad  in 
long  skin  boots  and  trousers  and  shirts.  All  wore  gloves 
of  skin  or  fur,  and  all  were  bareheaded.  The  dancing  was 
largely  a series  of  postures.  The  men  stamped  the  floor, 
they  sprang  into  the  air,  they  swung  their  arms  this  way 
and  that,  keeping  time  to  the  music.  They  sang  the 
while  in  loud,  raucous  tones,  their  voices  changing  in  ex- 
pression according  to  the  story  of  the  song.  Now  they 

217 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


seemed  angry,  as  though  singing  of  war,  and  again  laugh- 
ing when  the  tale  was  comic.  Much  of  the  dancing  was 
like  that  of  Russia,  and  one  or  two  of  the  dancers  were 
natives  of  Siberia.  Later  women  and  girls  entered  the 
dance,  and  at  one  time  a young  woman,  with  a baby  on  her 
back,  stood  in  the  centre  and  led  the  fun. 

I cannot  describe  the  enthusiasm  of  the  Eskimo  on- 
lookers. Around  the  walls,  standing  up  or  sitting  on  their 
heels,  were  scores  of  these  copper-skinned  people,  their 
slanting  eyes  ashine,  and  their  hands  clapping  as  they  lost 
themselves  in  the  music.  The  crowd  was  more  apprecia- 
tive than  any  I have  ever  seen  at  a concert  or  dance  in  the 
States. 

After  the  dancing  was  over  we  went  outside  the  school- 
house  for  an  exhibition  of  blanket-tossing.  Twenty  or 
thirty  of  the  natives  surrounded  a tanned  walrus  hide 
about  ten  feet  square,  holding  it  low  with  their  hands. 
Then  an  Eskimo  boy  jumped  into  the  middle  of  the  hide. 
He  stood  upon  his  feet,  and  at  a word  they  jerked  the 
hide  taut,  sending  him  up  into  the  air.  As  he  fell  they 
came  closer  together  and  then  again  threw  themselves 
back,  tossing  him  higher  and  higher,  and  continuing  to 
do  so  as  long  as  he  could  keep  his  feet.  Later  an  Eskimo 
girl  took  the  boy’s  place,  and  then  one  or  two  of  the 
strangers  stepped  on  the  hide  and  were  tossed  to  the  sky 
amid  the  hilarity  of  their  Eskimo  friends.  We  took  up  a 
collection,  distributing  the  proceeds  among  the  performers. 

The  day  has  long  gone  by  when  the  Eskimos  will  give  a 
polar  bear  skin  or  a bale  of  fox  skins  for  a fishhook.  They 
now  know  the  value  of  their  furs  and  bring  them  to  the 
best  markets.  The  other  day  the  king  of  the  Diomede 
Islands,  in  Bering  Strait  midway  between  North  America 

218 


AMONG  THE  ESKIMOS 


and  Asia,  brought  the  annual  fur  catch  of  his  people  here 
to  Nome  for  sale.  The  furs  consisted  of  the  skins  of  fox, 
polar  bear,  and  other  animals,  worth  several  thousands 
of  dollars.  I watched  the  sale  which  was  held  in  the  hotel 
billiard  room.  The  skins  were  spread  out  over  the  tables, 
and  the  old  chief,  clad  all  in  furs,  sat  half  doubled  up  in  a 
chair  smoking  an  Eskimo  pipe,  accepting  or  rejecting  the 
bids.  His  face  was  seamed  with  wrinkles,  as  though  with 
tattooing,  and  he  reminded  me  of  the  Maori  chiefs  I have 
seen  in-  New  Zealand.  His  skin  was  dark  brown,  but  his 
bristly  hair  was  as  white  as  the  fur  of  his  polar  fox 
skins.  They  told  me  he  was  honest  and  much  respected. 
They  said  he  was  wealthy  from  an  Eskimo  standpoint, 
being  worth  perhaps  as  much  as  ten  thousand  dollars 
and  owning  a schooner  that  cost  him  three  thousand 
dollars. 

The  Eskimos  about  Nome  make  their  living  by  fishing 
and  hunting  and  selling  ivory  carvings.  I am  surprised 
at  the  exquisite  workmanship  on  the  curios  they  bring 
to  the  hotels  to  sell  to  the  tourists.  They  use  the  tusks  of 
the  walrus,  carving  upon  them  images  of  men,  bears,  seals, 
and  wolves.  They  make  cribbage  boards  of  these  tusks, 
and  paper  knives,  and  handles  for  canes  and  umbrellas. 
A very  large  walrus  tusk  was  recently  carved  and  sent  to 
the  President  of  the  United  States. 

Among  the  carvings  sold  are  some  of  mammoth  ivory 
from  the  tusks  of  prehistoric  animals  which  roamed  Siberia 
and  Alaska  thousands  of  years  ago.  I have  seen  many  such 
tusks  since  I came  to  this  part  of  the  world.  ' They  have 
been  unearthed  along  the  Klondike  River,  and  are  to  be 
seen  in  Dawson  and  Fairbanks,  either  preserved  indoors  or 
standing  against  buildings  out  in  the  open.  At  a mining 

219 


ALASKA-OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


camp  outside  a miner’s  cabin  on  the  north  fork  of  the 
Klondike  I found  one  as  thick  through  as  my  leg. 

All  of  the  Eskimo  carving  to-day  is  done  with  steel  tools, 
but  there  is  work  in  existence  that  dates  back  to  the  Stone 
Age.  The  older  Eskimos  say  that  their  ancestors  used 
tools  of  flint,  and  it  is  known  that  they  have  been  carving 
ivory  for  many  generations.  Some  of  the  very  poorest  of 
them,  and  those  that  live  in  the  most  out-of-the-way  places, 
are  noted  for  their  fine  work.  They  seem  to  do  it  for  pas- 
time, and  make  many  toys  and  dolls  for  their  children. 
They  have  a way  of  softening  the  bone,  horn,  or  ivory  be- 
fore they  work  it.  To  make  the  carvings  more  distinct 
they  etch  lines  on  the  surface  with  a black  paint  made  of  a 
mixture  of  gunpowder  and  blood.  This,  when  put  on  the 
freshly  cut  bone,  makes  a permanent  stain. 

The  Eskimos  are  rapidly  changing.  They  live  differ- 
ently from  those  described  in  most  books  of  Arctic  travel. 
On  the  Seward  Peninsula  they  have  houses  of  wood  and 
skin  and  the  snow  house  is  comparatively  unknown,  ex- 
cept in  the  heart  of  winter.  Some  of  their  winter  houses 
are  cellars  four  or  five  feet  deep  and  twenty  or  twenty- 
five  feet  square.  Poles  of  driftwood  are  laid  about  the 
cellar  to  heighten  the  walls  and  timbers  are  placed  across 
the  top.  Then  dirt  and  sod  are  piled  around  the  hole 
until  they  have  what  looks  like  a great  mound  of  earth. 
In  the  centre  of  the  top  is  an  opening  about  as  large  as  the 
page  of  a newspaper,  across  which  is  stretched  a sheet 
of  seal  or  walrus  bladder  to  give  light  to  the  house  below. 
The  house  is  entered  by  a tunnel  connected  with  a shaft 
or  well  six  or  seven  feet  deep  in  which  is  a ladder.  Around 
the  walls  of  the  living  room  is  a platform,  which  is  the 
sleeping  place  of  the  family.  Such  houses  are  so  warm 

220 


Many  Eskimos  stili  wear  their  distinctive  native  dress.  The  man  on 
the  left  is  wearing  a waterproof  coat  of  walrus  bladders,  and  both  have  on 
mukluks,  or  high  boots  of  walrus  hide. 


The  kayak  is  a light  framework  of  driftwood  covered  with  seal  or  walrus 
hide.  The  Eskimo  makes  the  opening  water  tight  with  laced-up  skins 
and  can  turn  over  and  over  in  the  sea  without  shipping  any  water. 


The  Eskimo  dance  is  a series  of  postures  in  time  to  the  singers’  raucous 
cries  and  the  beating  of  walrus-skin  drums  like  tambourines.  The  dances 
are  often  followed  by  exhibitions  of  blanket  tossing. 


AMONG  THE  ESKIMOS 


that  the  Eskimos  often  go  almost  naked  while  indoors. 
The  dwellings  are  dark,  badly  ventilated,  and  often  infested 
with  vermin. 

Some  of  the  Eskimos  near  the  white  settlements  are 
changing  the  style  of  their  architecture.  They  are  build- 
ing homes  above  ground,  buying  window  sash  and  glass 
panes  and  doors  like  ours.  Many  of  them  are  now  using 
cook  stoves  in  place  of  the  old  seal-oil  lamps,  and  the  white 
traders  tell  me  that  the  Eskimo  women  are  learning  to 
cook.  They  bake  an  excellent  bread  with  the  aid  of 
yeast  made  from  hops,  which  they  buy  at  the  store.  These 
traders  laugh  at  the  story,  so  often  published,  of  a tallow 
candle  being  the  stick  candy  of  the  Eskimo  boy.  They 
say  the  natives  are  fond  of  fat,  but  that  their  chief  use  of 
it  is  in  connection  with  other  foods. 

I asked  one  of  these  traders  to  tell  me  what  goods  he 
sold  to  the  Eskimos.  He  replied: 

“Everything  under  the  sun.  The  staples  are  sugar  and 
flour,  especially  sugar.  They  like  sweets,  and  one  Eskimo 
will  eat  more  sugar  than  a whole  family  of  whites.  We 
sell  them  all  sorts  of  canned  goods,  such  as  peaches, 
apricots,  jams,  and  preserves.  Of  late  they  have  been 
buying  clothes,  including  underwear  and  socks.  They 
even  buy  thermos  bottles  to  take  along  with  them  on  their 
sealing  trips.  They  want  steel  fishhooks  and  the  best 
of  guns.  The  Eskimo  knows  a good  rifle.  He  usually 
buys  a repeater  and  will  pay  a good  price  for  it.” 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 


SCHOOL  REPUBLICS  OF  THE  ARCTIC! 


ESKIMO  villages  with  town  councils  elected  by 
the  people! 

Eskimo  schools  governed  as  republics  organized 
by  the  pupils! 

Cooperative  stores  run  by  the  natives  to  get  the  most 
for  their  work  and  their  money! 

Christian  communities  modelled  upon  the  Golden  Rule 
as  much  as  any  in  the  United  States! 

These  are  some  of  the  features  of  civilization  developed 
by  Uncle  Sam  among  the  natives  of  Alaska.  The  work 
was  started  by  the  missionaries  shortly  after  we  took 
possession  of  the  territory.  A decade  later  the  Govern- 
ment came  to  the  aid  of  the  missionaries;  and  later  still 
it  took  up  the  job  as  an  independent  undertaking.  The 
advance  has  been  steady,  and  now  Uncle  Sam  is  really 
the  great  father  of  his  copper-skinned  children  of  the  Far 
North.  He  has  already  spent  more  than  a million  dollars 
upon  their  schools  and  is  now  laying  out  something  like 
two  hundred  thousand  dollars  a year  in  educating  and 
civilizing  them.  He  is  watching  over  their  health.  He  is 
promoting  their  industries.  He  is  teaching  them  self- 
government  and  making  them  American  citizens.  He  is, 
in  short,  upbuilding  them  in  every  possible  way. 

This  work  is  being  done  by  the  Bureau  of  Education  at 
Washington  through  its  Alaskan  Division  with  head- 

222 


SCHOOL  REPUBLICS  OF  THE  ARCTIC! 


quarters  at  Seattle.  It  has  superintendents  travelling 
over  the  country  and  studying  methods  for  the  betterment 
of  the  natives.  The  chief  of  the  Alaskan  Division  is 
William  T.  Lopp,  who  came  to  the  Bering  Strait  as  a 
missionary  teacher  to  the  Eskimos  when  Benjamin  Harri- 
son was  President.  He  has  covered  the  entire  Arctic 
coast  with  reindeer  and  has  visited  most  of  the  interior 
on  dog  sleds.  He  covers  thousands  of  miles  every  year 
on  his  inspection  trips. 

According  to  Mr.  Lopp,  Alaska  is  about  the  largest 
school  division  on  the  face  of  the  globe.  The  territory  is 
divided  into  five  districts,  each  of  which  has  its  own 
superintendent.  One  of  the  districts  is  twice  as  big  as 
Illinois,  while  each  of  the  four  others  is,  on  the  average, 
larger  than  Missouri. 

Every  one  of  the  sixty-seven  government  schools  for  the 
Eskimos  and  Indians  of  Alaska  has  its  own  building. 
These  houses  are  usually  one  story,  and  are  made  of 
frame  or  logs.  They  are  heated  by  wood  and  are  lighted 
during  the  dark  days  of  the  Arctic  winter  with  kero- 
sene oil  or  gasolene.  In  most  of  the  schools  five-hour 
sessions  are  held  for  five  days  of  each  week.  The  terms 
vary  in  length  according  to  the  seasons  and  the  occupations 
of  the  locality.  Lessons  are  cut  short  when  the  big  hunts 
are  on;  and  the  killing  of  a whale  on  the  ice  may  give 
the  children  a vacation  for  a week. 

There  are  one  or  more  white  teachers  in  every  school  and 
every  teacher  is  a social  worker.  The  schoolhouse  is  the 
community  centre,  the  chief  meeting  place  of  the  people. 
The  little  Eskimos  are  taught  to  honour  Old  Glory,  which 
floats  over  all  school  buildings.  The  children  are  shown 
the  bad  effects  of  drink  and  are  not  allowed  to  use  tobacco 

223 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


in  school.  This  is  a great  reform.  Tobacco  has  always 
been  common  among  the  Eskimos,  who  learned  its  use 
from  visiting  whalers.  It  was  formerly  a rarity  to  find  a 
child  over  ten  years  of  age  who  did  not  smoke,  chew,  or  use 
snuff.  Along  Kotzebue  Sound  the  Eskimos  mix  their 
smoking  tobacco  with  shredded  willow  pith  to  make  it  go 
further,  and  they  char  the  fungus  of  the  spruce  tree  and 
mix  the  powder  with  finely  cut  black  Kentucky  tobacco 
for  snuff. 

The  use  of  alcoholic  liquor,  long  one  of  the  curses  of 
these  natives,  is  now  on  the  decline.  The  poorest  of 
whisky  and  alcohol  is  smuggled  in  by  the  whalers  and 
traded  for  furs.  The  Eskimos  of  the  Far  North  long  ago 
learned  how  to  distil  alcohol  from  molasses,  sugar,  and 
flour,  mixed  with  water  and  boiled  in  an  old  oil  can.  Into 
the  can  was  inserted  a gun  barrel  fitted  with  dough  or  clay 
to  render  the  joints  airtight.  This  gun  barrel  was  then 
passed  through  a block  of  ice,  which  condensed  the  steam 
from  the  mixture  so  that  it  came  out  drop  by  drop  as  a 
crude  spirit. 

Sanitation  is  being  taught  by  the  teachers  and  doctors 
Medical  directors  under  the  Bureau  of  Education  visit 
the  schools  and  instruct  the  teachers  how  to  care  for  the 
natives.  There  are  now  nine  doctors  and  fourteen  nurses 
continually  working  among  these  people,  waging  war  on 
tuberculosis  and  other  prevalent  diseases,  but  the  number 
is  not  sufficient,  and  larger  appropriations  from  Congress 
are  needed  to  provide  an  adequate  medical  service. 

The  teachers  do  all  they  can  to  instruct  the  people  how 
to  take  care  of  themselves.  There  are  bathtubs  in  most 
of  the  schools,  and  many  of  the  children  now  get  baths 
once  a week.  Even  the  grown-ups  occasionally  come  in  for 

224 


The  Eskimos  are  always  begging  for  schools,  ‘to  make  us  smart  like 
white  man.”  The  children  go  happily  to  learn  the  three  R's  even  in  the 
coldest  weather.  Their  moccasins  are  lined  with  grass  to  keep  their  feet 
from  frostbite. 


Kivalina,  nearly  a hundred  miles  north  of  the  Arctic  Circle,  has  a native 
town  council,  hive  Eskimos  look  after  such  matters  as  the  community 
supplies  of  wood  and  dried  fish.  Self-government  is  fostered  by  the 
schools. 


At  Selawik,  on  the  Arctic  Circle,  the  Government  has  a flourishing  man- 
ual training  class.  The  school  republic  laws  forbid  the  wearing  of  the 
fur  parka  inside  and  fines  are  imposed  for  dirty  faces  or  uncombed  hair. 


SCHOOL  REPUBLICS  OF  THE  ARCTIC! 


a wash.  The  teacher  at  Kivalina,  one  of  the  Eskimo  vil- 
lages north  of  Bering  Strait,  says  that  the  bathtub  is  one 
of  the  chief  features  of  his  school.  During  a single  term 
four  hundred  and  ninety-two  baths  were  recorded  at  the 
Kivalina  school. 

In  these  baths  soap  is  now  used,  and  the  disgusting 
makeshifts  of  the  past  have  been  abolished.  In  some  of 
the  villages  the  old-fashioned  sweat  baths  still  prevail. 
These  are  held  once  a week  during  the  winter.  The  bath- 
house is  made  of  logs  and  sod.  A fire  is  built  on  the  earth 
in  the  centre,  and  the  smoke  comes  out  through  a square 
hole  in  the  roof.  When  everything  is  red-hot  the  coals  are 
covered  and  a skin  is  placed  over  the  roof  hole  so  that  no 
heat  escapes  from  the  building.  Perspiration  is  induced 
by  beating  the  body  with  bundles  of  willows.  The  Es- 
kimo bathers  sit  on  a platform  at  one  end  of  the  house, 
and  the  heat  serves  in  place  of  towels  for  drying  them. 
Sometimes  they  rush  out  from  this  bath  and  pour  over 
themselves  water  from  holes  in  the  ice. 

I have  been  greatjy  interested  in  the  Eskimo  school 
republics  established  all  along  the  coast  of  the  Arctic 
Ocean,  as  well  as  in  the  Seward  Peninsula  and  in  the 
Yukon  and  Kuskokwim  basins.  There  is  one  at  Wain- 
wright,  between  Icy  Cape  and  Point  Barrow,  which  has 
enacted  its  own  school  laws  and  governs  itself  under  the 
teacher’s  guidance.  All  pupils  who  can  read  in  the  first 
reader  are  eligible  for  membership.  The  officers  consist  of 
a president,  mayor,  and  judge,  each  with  a term  of  one 
month.  There  is  a council,  which  meets  every  Friday  after- 
noon, when  the  president  takes  the  chair  and  laws  are 
enacted.  No  bill  can  become  a law  unless  it  is  passed  by 
the  council  and  signed  by  the  mayor. 


225 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


Among  the  laws  are: 

"No  citizen  shall  speak  Eskimo  in  the  schoolroom. 

“No  citizen  shall  whisper  or  look  behind  in  school  time. 

"No  citizen  shall  be  noisy  or  rude.  He  shall  not  wear 
his  skin  parka  into  the  schoolroom,  and  he  shall  be  fined  if 
he  comes  to  school  with  a dirty  face  or  uncombed  hair." 

The  laws  define  the  duties  of  the  citizen-pupils  and  the 
work  each  is  to  do  in  keeping  the  school  clean.  They  pro- 
vide for  records  of  attendance,  of  the  game  killed  by  the 
village  hunters,  of  the  weather,  and  also  of  the  amount 
of  paper,  pencils,  and  books  used. 

The  mayor  of  this  school  has  three  police  officers.  One 
is  a truant  officer,  one  a health  officer,  and  another  the 
monitor  of  the  kindergarten.  One  of  the  police  officers  is 
always  present  in  the  schoolroom,  even  during  the  recess 
and  after  hours,  when  the  schoolhouse  is  used  as  a sort  of 
club. 

At  Kivalina  the  school  republic  has  a president,  vice- 
president,  judge,  two  peace  officers,  two  health  officers, 
and  two  commissioners  of  work.  The  health  officers 
watch  over  the  cleanliness  of  all  the  children  in  the  village. 
They  make  everyone  clean  himself  of  vermin,  and  when 
a new  child  comes  to  school  he  is  taken  to  the  bathroom 
where  his  hair  is  combed  and  his  body  rigidly  inspected. 
He  is  made  to  wash  his  hands  and  face,  and  if  his  clothing 
is  dirty  he  is  sent  home  to  have  it  washed  or  changed. 
The  commissioners  of  work  are  responsible  for  the  manual 
labour  of  the  school,  such  as  taking  care  of  the  fires,  sweep- 
ing the  schoolroom,  and  bringing  in  ice  and  snow  for  the 
bath  tank. 

Kivalina,  like  nearly  all  the  Eskimo  villages  of  the  Far 
North,  has  a town  council.  The  council  is  composed  of 

226 


SCHOOL  REPUBLICS  OF  THE  ARCTIC! 


five  men.  Three  are  old  Eskimos,  and  the  other  two  are 
younger  men  who  can  read,  write,  and  speak  English. 
This  council  takes  charge  of  all  matters  relating  to  the 
village,  including  supplies  of  food  and  fuel.  One  year  the 
stock  of  firewood  was  not  sufficient;  the  next  summer, 
under  the  direction  of  the  council,  driftwood  was  brought 
down  on  rafts  from  a beach  twenty  miles  away,  and  a 
municipal  woodpile  large  enough  for  the  following  winter 
was  built.  The  council  is  now  considering  the  supply 
of  dried  fish  for  next  season  and  will  establish  municipal 
fish  traps  along  the  rivers. 

The  Eskimo  town  at  Noatak,  on  the  Noatak  River, 
some  distance  above  Kotzebue  Sound  in  Arctic  Alaska, 
has  a government  consisting  of  five  trustees  who  settle 
all  disputes  among  the  people.  It  has  also  annually 
elected  peace  officers.  These  men  have  kept  liquor  from 
coming  into  their  village.  The  teacher  there  says  that 
not  one  drop  of  liquor  was  brought  into  Noatak  during  the 
whole  of  last  winter. 

One  of  the  most  interesting  schools  of  Alaska  is  that  at 
Point  Barrow,  the  farthest  north  school  in  the  world. 
The  settlement  there  consists  of  six  or  eight  white  men 
in  addition  to  the  teacher,  and  about  two  hundred  natives. 
The  whites  are  engaged  in  whaling.  The  Eskimos  fish 
and  trap  and  catch  whales  and  seals.  They  have  also 
reindeer  which  add  to  their  income,  and  on  the  whole  they 
are  well-to-do. 

The  schoolhouse  at  Point  Barrow  cost  six  thousand 
dollars,  and  includes  the  home  of  the  teacher.  It  has 
a blacksmith  shop  with  portable  forge  and  the  boys  are 
taught  how  to  use  the  white  man’s  tools.  They  learn 
carpentry  and  make  all  sorts  of  things  from  dog  chains  to 

227 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


coverings  for  canoes.  The  shop  itself  was  built  by  vol- 
unteer labour. 

The  school  at  Selawik  has  a sewing  department  and  a 
sewing  machine.  The  machine  is  used  by  the  women  of 
the  village,  and  girls  come  from  miles  around  to  learn  how 
to  make  garments.  It  is  used  by  the  young  men,  too, 
in  making  sails  for  their  boats. 

In  one  school  on  the  Arctic  Ocean  there  are  three 
classes  in  cooking  each  week.  The  girls  make  bread, 
rolls,  biscuits,  and  doughnuts,  both  at  school  and  at 
home.  Sourdough  biscuits  and  hot  cakes  are  now  to 
be  had  in  every  igloo,  and  they  have  great  feasts  on 
Thanksgiving  and  Christmas,  sometimes  cooked  for  the 
whole  village  by  the  girl  pupils. 

The  advance  in  sewing  among  the  Eskimos  is  remark- 
able. Not  many  years  ago  a great  part  of  the  sewing  was 
done  with  bone  needles  and  the  only  materials  were 
skins.  The  skins  were  so  hard  that  they  had  to  be  chewed 
in  the  mouth  before  the  needle  would  go  through,  and 
there  are  many  Eskimo  women  with  teeth  ground  down  to 
the  gums  by  their  work  as  seamstresses.  Every  school 
now  has  its  sewing  class,  and  in  some  of  them  an  hour  a 
day  is  devoted  to  making  garments  of  one  kind  or  another. 
The  smaller  girls  hem  towels  or  dishcloths  and  make 
gingham  aprons  for  the  girls  of  the  cooking  class.  In  one 
school  every  girl  above  the  primary  grade  has  made  a 
dress  for  herself.  The  older  girls  also  make  dresses  for  the 
smaller  children.  In  some  of  the  schools  they  are  em- 
broidering on  cotton  the  birds,  flowers,  and  animals  of 
Alaska.  Instruction  in  darning  and  mending  is  given 
\o  both  boys  and  girls. 

The  Eskimo  children  are  learning  how  to  handle  money 

228 


The  doctor  at  Kanakanak  hospital  calls  at  forty-three  villages.  Some- 
times he  goes  by  launch,  sometimes  by  reindeer  sleigh,  sometimes  by 
dog-sled.  He  brings  back  with  him  all  the  more  serious  cases. 


I 

Jolly  young  Eskimos  and  their  pups  find  a welcome  at  the  Moravian 
mission  station  at  Bethel  on  the  Kuskokwim.  Formerly  reached  only  by 
the  native  kayaks,  it  is  now  a port  of  call  for  river  steamers. 


Furs  used  to  be  very  cheap  in  Alaska  but  now  the  Indian  trappers  have 
learned  their  value  and  often  send  their  best  skins  to  the  States  by  parcel 
post  to  get  better  prices. 


SCHOOL  REPUBLICS  OF  THE  ARCTIC! 


and  are  passing  from  the  stage  of  barter  to  credit  and 
cash.  Arithmetic  lessons  include  problems  on  the  buying 
and  selling  of  goods,  the  selling  of  furs,  and  the  importa- 
tion of  articles  from  the  outside.  At  Point  Barrow  the 
advanced  classes  use  the  price  lists  in  the  mail-order 
catalogues,  and  estimate  what  things  cost  in  furs.  They 
compute  the  expense  of  sending  fox  skins  to  Seattle  by 
mail,  and  figure  out  the  value  of  bear  skins,  whalebone, 
and  ivory. 

Money  values  are  thoroughly  explained  and  the  re- 
lations of  time  and  distance  are  taught.  In  the  past 
these  things  had  little  significance  among  the  Eskimos. 
Distance  was  reckoned  by  the  number  of  sleeps  during  a 
journey.  The  Wainwright  School,  for  instance,  is  three 
sleeps  south  of  Point  Barrow  and  one  sleep  north  of  Icy, 
Cape. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 


FUR  SEALS  AND  FOX  FARMS 

AS  I write,  the  steamship  Victoria  is  carrying  me 
/ \ across  Bering  Sea.  We  have  just  left  the 
/ \ PriBilof^ Islands,  where  there  are  now  more 

^ than  half  a million  fur  seals.  Of  this  number 
over  a hundred  and  fifty  thousand  are  breeding  females, 
each  of  which  can  be  relied  upon  to  yield  one  baby  a year. 
Of  the  babies  one  half  will  be  males,  whose  skins  will  some 
time  be  sold  in  the  fur  markets  of  the  world,  adding  to  the 
enormous  profits  we  have  already  cleared  from  the  islands. 

But  what  are  the  Pribilofs  and  just  where  do  they  lie 
on  the  map  of  the  world?  They  are  really  rocky  volcanic 
peaks  in  the  midst  of  Bering  Sea,  so  small  that  they  would 
not  make  a fly  speck  on  a chart  of  the  Pacific  Ocean  the 
size  of  a billiard  table.  They  have  an  area,  all  told, 
of  less  than  sixty  square  miles,  and  are  about  the  most 
forbidding  looking  places  on  earth.  The  islands  are 
composed  of  alternate  stretches  of  sand  and  broken  rock, 
in  some  cases  backed  by  cliffs  rising  four  hundred  feet 
high.  They  are  in  one  of  the  gloomiest  parts  of  the  ocean. 
In  the  winter  they  are  surrounded  by  ice  floes  and  ice- 
bergs, while  in  summer  they  are  wrapped  in  fog.  The  sun 
seldom  shines  upon  them,  and  it  is  only  by  means  of  the 
compass  and  chart  that  ships  are  able  to  make  their  way 
there.  The  nearest  land  is  the  Aleutian  Chain  over  two 
hundred  miles  to  the  south. 

230 


FUR  SEALS  AND  FOX  FARMS 


From  time  immemorial  the  Pribilofs  have  been  one  of 
the  chief  breeding  places  of  the  fur  seal,  and  since  their 
discovery  they  have  supplied  most  of  the  sealskins  of  the 
world. 

There  are  to-day  only  three  seal  rookeries,  or  breeding 
places,  of  any  importance.  One  of  these  belongs  to 
Uruguay,  one  to  the  Russians,  and  one  to  the  United 
States.  The  first  is  the  Lobos  Islands,  off  the  mouth  of  the 
Rio  de  la  Plata.  The  Russian  rookery  is  in  the  western 
part  of  Bering  Sea.  The  United  States  rookery  on  the 
Pribilofs  is  the  largest  and  most  profitable  of  all.  From 
it  m^re  than  two  million  skins  were  taken  during  the  latter 
part  of  the  last  century,  and  even  now,  under  the  strict 
government  regulation  of  seal  killing,  it  sends  to  the  great 
fur  sales  at  St.  Louis  some  fifteen  thousand  skins  every  year. 

The  Pribilof  Islands  were  named  for  the  Russian  sea 
captain  who  discovered  them  just  ten  years  after  our 
Declaration  of  Independence  was  signed.  The  Russians 
had  heard  from  the  Aleutian  Islanders  a tradition  that  the 
fur  seals  came  from  the  north  and  they  scouted  about 
over  Bering  Sea  for  eighteen  years  before  they  found  just 
where  the  breeding  place  was.  Pribilof  spent  three  years 
searching  for  them,  and  he  cruised  for  weeks  near  the 
islands  without  being  able  to  find  them.  One  story  relates 
how  he  heard  the  seals  barking  and  then  ran  in  to  the 
Island  of  St.  George,  which  was  covered  with  the  animals. 
A few  weeks  later  he  discovered  St.  Paul,  and  a half  million 
skins  were  taken  that  year. 

The  chief  market  for  the  furs  was  China,  and  the 
Russians  grew  rich  from  their  sales.  At  one  time  they 
took  so  many  skins  that  the  killing  was  stopped  for  some 
years,  the  females  being  spared.  This  was  the  case  at 

231 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


the  time  we  bought  Alaska,  when  the  herd  contained,  it 
is  estimated,  from  two  to  five  million  animals.  After  the 
United  States  took  possession  the  islands  were  leased  by 
the  Government  to  the  Alaska  Commercial  Company, 
which  paid  a rental  of  fifty-five  thousand  dollars  per 
annum  and  a royalty  of  two  dollars  and  sixty-two  cents 
on  each  skin  taken.  That  company  killed  almost  two 
million  seals  during  the  twenty  years  it  held  the  Pribilofs. 
After  that  they  were  leased  to  the  Northern  Commercial 
Company  at  sixty  thousand  dollars  a year  and  a tax 
of  about  ten  dollars  a skin.  The  latter  company  took 
several  hundred  thousand  skins.  At  the  expiration  of  its 
lease  in  1910  the  Government  took  over  the  islands.  The 
sealing  industry  is  now  managed  by  the  Bureau  of  Fisheries 
under  the  Department  of  Commerce. 

The  fur  seal  comes  to  the  islands  only  during  the 
summer.  For  the  rest  of  the  year  his  life  is  spent  in  the 
sea.  He  arrives  at  the  Pribilofs  in  the  late  spring,  and  as 
winter  comes  on,  makes  his  way  southward  through  the 
Aleutians,  and  down  as  far  as  California.  Some  of  the 
large  males  winter  in  the  Gulf  of  Alaska,  while  the  younger 
ones  will  go  as  far  south  as  the  latitude  of  San  Francisco. 
The  females  go  very  far  south.  In  coming  back,  the 
adult  males  get  to  the  breeding  grounds  about  the  first  of 
May.  The  females  and  the  older  bachelors  stay  away 
until  June,  the  two-year-olds  come  along  in  July,  and 
the  yearlings  in  the  latter  part  of  August  and  in  early 
September. 

A full-grown  bull  often  measures  six  or  seven  feet  in 
length  and  six  feet  between  the  tips  of  his  outstretched 
fore  flippers.  He  weighs  from  one  hundred  to  five  hun- 
dred pounds.  The  cow  seals  are  between  four  and  five  feet 

232 


FUR  SEALS  AND  FOX  FARMS 


long  and  often  weigh  up  to  one  hundred  pounds.  The 
pups  when  first  born  are  about  a foot  long  and  weigh 
only  three  or  four  pounds.  They  are  born  on  the  land, 
and  the  mothers  have  to  teach  them  to  swim.  They  begin 
to  learn  at  two  months  of  age,  and  soon  become  so  skillful 
that  at  the  end  of  the  season  they  go  away  with  their 
mothers  and  remain  for  six  months  in  the  ocean  without 
landing  at  all. 

The  fur-seal  industry  is  just  a stock-raising  business,  and 
the  animals  can  be  controlled  in  the  breeding  season  even 
more  easily  than  horses  or  cows.  The  males  do  not  begin 
to  breed  until  they  are  five  years  old,  when  they  develop 
a wig,  or  mane,  which  distinguishes  them  from  the 
younger  animals.  The  cows  begin  to  bear  at  three  years 
and  continue  for  a decade  or  more.  The  males  under 
five  years  old  and  those  unable  to  secure  and  control 
harems  are  called  bachelors.  The  superfluous  males  are 
the  ones  killed  for  furs. 

The  seals  are  polygamous,  and  each  bull  of  full  size 
claims  the  right  to  as  many  cows  as  he  can  appropriate. 
In  some  cases  the  fiercest  of  the  bulls  have  had  as  many  as 
seventy-five  cows,  but  experts  have  found  that  each 
harem  bull  should  have  only  about  thirty-five  cows  to 
keep  a herd  at  its  best. 

In  their  summer  migration  to  the  Pribilofs  each  of  the 
old  bulls  picks  out  a spot  on  the  rocks,  near  the  water, 
about  fifty  feet  in  circumference,  which  he  intends  to  use 
as  a home  for  himself  and  his  harem.  About  a month 
later  the  cows  begin  to  come,  and  he  sees  that  he  gets  his 
share,  fighting  any  other  bull  who  attempts  to  come  into 
his  territory. 

A short  time  after  the  cows  arrive  each  gives  birth  to  a 

233 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


pup,  and  from  that  time  on  she  goes  out  to  sea  now  and 
then  to  get  food.  She  often  swims  as  far  as  three  hundred 
miles  away  to  find  good  feeding  grounds.  The  bulls, 
which  are  fat  upon  their  arrival,  eat  nothing  for  several 
months,  or  until  near  the  end  of  the  breeding  season. 
After  that  they  occasionally  go  out  for  a meal  but  come 
back  to  the  islands. 

There  is  very  little  sea  food  about  the  Pribilofs,  and  at 
present  the  nearest  feeding  grounds  are  about  one  hundred 
miles  away.  The  best  are  on  the  submerged  plateaus,  or 
banks,  situated  a little  north  of  the  Aleutian  Islands.  The 
seals  eat  chiefly  squid,  but  are  fond  also  of  herring,  smelts, 
salmon,  and  other  kinds  of  fish,  upon  which  they  gorge 
themselves  whenever  they  can. 

They  can  sleep  in  the  water,  resting  on  their  backs, 
with  their  hind  flippers  held  aloft,  and  their  noses  just 
above  the  surface.  While  on  the  land  they  sleep  the 
greater  part  of  the  time,  and  one  can  frequently  see  the 
master  of  the  harem  and  his  cows,  and  even  the  pups, 
all  fast  asleep. 

During  the  summer  the  pups  suckle  their  mothers, 
living  upon  milk  until  the  approach  of  cold  weather,  when 
they  have  learned  to  swim  and  can  catch  their  own  fish 
and  squid.  As  winter  comes  on  the  cows  and  pups  start 
away  first  and  the  bulls  and  bachelors  follow  some  time 
later. 

1 am  told  that  the  best  furs  are  those  taken  from  the 
animals  of  three  and  four  years,  and  the  Government  aims 
to  kill  only  the  surplus  bachelors  of  those  ages.  The  cows 
are  all  kept  for  breeding.  The  killing,  which  is  done  after 
a regular  system,  begins  about  the  last  of  June  and  ends 
before  the  first  of  September.  Each  seal  selected  to  be 

234 


FUR  SEALS  AND  FOX  FARMS 


killed  is  stunned  by  a blow  on  the  head  with  a heavy  club 
and  while  he  is  still  unconscious  he  is  stabbed  to  the  heart 
and  bled. 

The  dead  seals  are  laid  out  in  rows  to  be  skinned  by  the 
natives.  They  leave  on  the  skin  a layer  of  fat  from  a 
fourth  to  a half  inch  thick,  and  work  so  skilfully  that  the 
skin  comes  off  as  a sort  of  bag  with  two  round  holes  at  the 
front  where  the  fore  flippers  went  through.  The  most 
expert  can  skin  a seal  in  two  minutes. 

The  next  process  is  salting  and  curing  the  skins,  which 
are  then  packed  up  in  pairs  and  shipped  to  the  markets. 
Formerly  all  of  them  were  sent  to  London,  the  world’s 
market  for  raw  furs.  There  they  were  graded  according 
to  size  and  quality,  and  sold  at  auction  in  lots  of  one 
hundred.  In  1910  the  average  price  obtained  by  the 
Government  for  about  thirteen  thousand  skins  taken  on 
these  islands  was  thirty-three  dollars.  Since  the  World 
War  the  Government’s  fur  auctions  have  been  held  at  St. 
Louis.  In  a recent  year,  fourteen  thousand,  eight  hun- 
dred and  fifty-two  seal  skins  were  sold  at  an  average  of 
one  hundred  and  fifteen  dollars  a skin. 

By  the  treaties  made  in  191 1 the  killing  of  the  animals 
at  sea  has  been  largely  stopped.  We  have  our  revenue 
cutters  on  guard  about  the  islands,  and  we  watch  for 
Japanese,  English,  or  American  sealing  pirates.  In  the 
past,  a fleet  of  such  boats  watched  for  the  seals  as  they 
swam  to  and  from  their  feeding  grounds  and  as  they  made 
their  way  northward  and  southward  during  the  year.  The 
pirates  killed  the  cows  as  well  as  the  bulls  to  such  an 
extent  that  they  took  about  nine  hundred  thousand  skins 
in  the  thirty  years  prior  to  191 1.  They  destroyed  more 
skins  than  they  secured,  the  estimates  being  that,  for  every 
* 235 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


skin  taken,  four  or  five  seals  were  killed  and  lost.  More- 
over, many  of  the  females  so  destroyed  were  with  pup  or 
had  pups  on  land  which  were  left  to  starve.  If  the  mother 
seal  dies,  there  is  no  hope  for  her  young,  for  the  seal  will 
not  suckle  any  but  her  own  offspring.  The  total  losses 
from  pelagic  sealing  ran  high  into  the  millions. 

Besides  the  seal  fisheries  on  the  Pribilofs,  the  herds  of 
blue  foxes  maintained  there  by  the  Bureau  of  Fisheries 
are  sources  of  considerable  revenue  to  the  United  States. 
Nearly  a thousand  skins  have  been  sold  in  a year,  bringing 
in  eighty  thousand  dollars.  In  the  Pribilofs  the  fox  herds 
are  allowed  to  run  at  large,  but  in  the  Aleutians  and  the 
islands  of  Southeastern  Alaska,  where  many  foxes  are 
raised,  they  are  usually  kept  in  pens  on  regular  fox  farms. 

Fox  farming  appears  to  be  one  of  the  big  coming  in- 
dustries of  Southern  and  Southeastern  Alaska,  mainly  on 
the  coast  or  islands.  Climatic  conditions  seem  to  favour 
especially  the  blue  foxes,  which  are  decidedly  more  pro- 
lific than  the  black  or  the  silver  foxes,  though  the  skins  of 
the  latter  bring  the  best  prices. 

I have  visited  some  of  Alaska’s  fox  farms.  At  a dis- 
tance, such  a farm  looks  like  a great  chicken  yard  with 
walls  of  woven  wire  and  little  coops  inside.  The  wire  is 
much  like  chicken  wire,  but  is  made  of  tough  steel,  and 
reaches  as  high  as  that  about  a tennis  court.  At  the 
bottom  it  is  sunk  about  four  feet  and  is  then  bent  over  so 
that  it  runs  under  the  ground  for  two  feet  to  prevent  the 
foxes  from  burrowing  out  from  under  it.  At  the  top  the 
wire  has  an  overhang  of  two  feet.  This  is  to  keep  the 
foxes  from  climbing  out  of  the  pen.  Each  fox  pen  has 
its  own  kennel  made  of  boards.  It  is  entered  by  a board 
chute  up  which  the  fox  runs  when  it  goes  in,  but  some- 

236 


The  bull  seal  reaches  the  Pribilofs  about  May  i,  picks  out  a place  on  the 
rocks  for  his  family  home,  and  then  fights  for  his  share  of  the  cows  when 
they  arrive  in  June. 


Raising  foxes  for  their  fur  is  a growing  industry  in  Alaska,  where  many 
of  the  fox  farms  have  paid  big  dividends.  These  silver-gray  puppies  were 
valued  at  one  thousand  dollars  each. 


FUR  SEALS  AND  FOX  FARMS 


times  a wooden  pipe  a foot  square  serves  as  an  entrance. 
The  foxes  run  in  and  out  of  these  pipes  and  usually  carry 
their  food  inside  to  eat  it. 

Usually  but  one  pair  of  foxes  is  kept  in  a single  pen. 
The  animals  are  so  timid  that  they  have  to  be  handled 
carefully,  especially  in  the  mating  season,  when  they  are 
sensitive  to  strange  sights,  noises,  and  smells.  Most  of 
the  fox  farmers  will  not  permit  visitors  to  enter  their 
property  for  fear  they  will  frighten  the  foxes.  When 
excited  the  animals  grow  crazy  and  sometimes  eat  their 
young.  On  the  other  hand,  they  get  acquainted  with 
their  keepers  and  some  become  so  tame  that  strangers  can 
handle  them.  During  my  visit  to  a fox  farm  on  the 
Tanana  River  my  daughter,  who  was  with  me,  picked  up 
two  little  silver-gray  fellows  the  size  of  kittens  and  hugged 
them  to  her  while  I made  a snapshot.  Those  foxes  were 
worth  a thousand  dollars  apiece. 

The  baby  foxes,  often  kept  in  “nursery”  pens  to  them- 
selves, have  long  bushy  tails,  little  sharp  noses,  and  eyes 
sparkling  like  jet.  In  the  same  pens  are  sometimes  baby 
martens  with  heads  not  bigger  than  a baby’s  fist  and  eyes 
the  size  of  a black-headed  pin.  The  marten  has  a gor- 
geous yellow  throat.  The  rest  of  its  fur  is  a rich  brown. 
It  is  really  a sable,  and  is  sometimes  known  as  the  Alaska 
sable,  the  best  of  which  are  equal  to  the  sables  of  Russia. 

On  this  same  farm  1 saw  one  litter  of  foxes  being 
mothered  by  a cat.  She  had  three  baby  foxes  which  when 
grown  will  be  worth  from  five  hundred  dollars  to  one 
thousand  dollars  apiece,  and  possibly  more.  The  mother 
of  these  foxes  was  a very  nervous  animal  and  the  farmer 
feared  she  might  kill  her  young,  so  they  were  taken 
away  and  given  to  the  cat  in  place  of  her  kittens,  which 

2 37 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


seemed  to  be  a satisfactory  arrangement  for  both  cat  and 
baby  foxes. 

It  seems  that  it  is  necessary  to  have  cats  around  a fox 
farm  for  such  complications.  There  is  a story  that  one 
man  in  eastern  Canada  lost  a litter  of  silver  foxes  because 
he  would  not  pay  a high  price  for  a cat.  The  mother  of 
the  foxes  had  died,  and  in  looking  around  to  find  a cat  in 
the  proper  condition,  the  farmer  discovered  but  one. 
The  owner  of  the  cat,  appreciating  his  need,  said  he 
would  not  sell  his  cat  for  less  than  five  hundred  dollars. 
The  fox  farmer  indignantly  refused.  The  result  was  that 
he  lost  five  little  foxes  that  might  have  been  worth  twenty- 
five  hundred  dollars,  and  all  for  a five-hundred-dollar  cat. 
One  fox  raised  by  a cat  at  Fairbanks  had  a pelt  valued  at 
eight  hundred  dollars. 

There  is  a great  demand  among  the  fox  farmers  for  wild 
foxes  for  breeding.  One  has  paid  as  high  as  one  thousand 
dollars  apiece  for  black  foxes  and  one  hundred  dollars  and 
upward  for  red  ones.  There  is  a closed  season  for  killing 
foxes,  but  some  of  the  farmers  have  been  paying  the  In- 
dians for  the  live  young  they  catch,  and  shipping  them  to 
the  east  as  ranch-bred.  Not  long  ago  the  government  fur 
warden  found  forty-two  live  young  in  the  hands  of  In- 
dians and  turned  them  all  loose.  This  number  included 
sixteen  blacks  worth  at  least  one  thousand  dollars  apiece. 
When  they  let  the  foxes  go,  from  sixteen  thousand  to 
twenty  thousand  dollars  fled  off  into  the  woods.  The 
Indians  could  not  help  themselves  for  fear  of  the  law. 

When  an  Indian  finds  a fox  nest  he  watches  it  until  the 
closed  season  is  over  and  then  tries  to  catch  the  foxes 
with  traps  so  protected  by  wrappings  that  they  will  hold 
the  animals  without  injuring  them. 

238 


CHAPTER  XXX 


THE  ALEUTIAN  ISLANDS 

A MONG  the  least  known  parts  of  Uncle  Sam’s 
/\  dominions  are  the  Aleutian  Islands,  the  shores 
which  I am  now  coasting.  I have  crossed 
^ Bering  Sea  and  travelled  along  the  Alaska 
Peninsula,  a great  tongue  of  land  extending  from  the 
southwestern  end  of  the  territory  as  far  as  from  New  York 
to  Cleveland.  1 have  skirted  the  coast  under  the  shadow 
of  the  Katmai  volcano,  which  a few  years  ago  spread  a 
coat  of  ashes  broadcast  over  the  land  near  by,  and  have 
seen  something  of  the  Island  of  Kodiak,  the  largest  in 
Alaska,  where  the  Government  is  now  experimenting  in 
dairy  and  stock  farming.  The  whole  of  this  region  is 
practically  unknown. 

Bering  Sea  is  twice  as  big  as  Hudson  Bay.  It  has  a 
greater  area  than  the  Gulf  of  Mexico.  It  is  as  long  from 
north  to  south  as  from  Chicago  to  New  Orleans,  and  its 
width  is  greater  than  the  distance  between  the  mouth  of 
the  Hudson  and  the  Missouri  River  at  Omaha.  The  sea 
is  colder  than  the  Pacific  Ocean,  from  which  it  is  shut  off 
by  the  Aleutian  Islands,  and  the  climatic  conditions  are 
such  that  it  is  usually  shrouded  in  fog.  It  is  noted  for 
its  storms,  and  during  the  winter  a great  part  of  it  is 
covered  with  ice. 

When  we  left  Nome  the  water  was  smooth  and  we  had 
no  wind  to  speak  of  all  the  way  to  the  Aleutians.  The 

239 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


sky  was  bright,  with  fleecy  clouds  floating  here  and  there 
through  it,  while  now  and  then  a fog  bank  or  so  was  to  be 
seen  in  the  distance.  There  was  not  enough  breeze  to 
raise  white  caps.  There  the  colour  of  the  water  was  green. 
A day  or  so  later  it  changed  to  a deep  blue,  caused  by  the 
greater  depth,  or  possibly  by  the  clouds.  The  northern 
half  of  Bering  Sea  is  so  shallow  that  if  you  could  drop  the 
Washington  Monument  down  into  it  the  aluminum  tip 
would  reach  above  the  surface  of  the  waves.  Farther 
south,  along  the  Aleutians,  it  reaches  a depth  of  almost  two 
miles.  Near  the  islands  are  the  great  banks,  somewhat  like 
those  of  Newfoundland,  upon  which  feed  tens  of  millions 
of  cod  and  halibut.  They  are  among  the  best  fishing 
banks  of  the  world  and  are  a big  asset  in  our  aquatic  wealth. 

As  we  came  south,  1 talked  with  the  captain  about  his 
voyages.  During  the  open  season  from  June  to  October 
he  makes  five  or  six  round  trips  from  Seattle  to  Nome. 
The  ships  often  break  their  way  in  through  floating  ice 
and  go  out  chased  by  Jack  Frost.  The  ice  comes  to 
Nome  almost  in  a night.  It  freezes  first  along  the  beach, 
and  the  whole  sea  becomes  mushy.  The  water  is  covered 
with  white  caps  of  slush.  Then  a cold  spell  will  come,  and 
the  sea  will  freeze  far  out  from  the  shore.  The  ice  may 
not  be  thick  at  first  and  it  breaks  with  the  tide  and  floats 
away.  If  the  wind  blows  toward  the  land,  it  is  driven 
on  to  the  beach  and  banks  up.  When  the  winter  is 
established  the  ice  may  extend  from  Nome  as  far  as  Nun- 
ivak  Island,  and  floats  in  from  the  Arctic  Ocean  through 
Bering  Strait. 

When  the  ice  breaks  in  the  spring  it  goes  almost  as  fast 
as  it  comes  in  the  fall.  A channel  may  form  between  the 
shore  and  the  solid  frozen  body,  and  there  may  be  a river 

240 


The  most  valuable  Indian  baskets  are  woven  by  the  Aleut  women,  and 
are  made  of  grasses  and  tender  spruce  roots,  coloured  with  native  dyes. 
Sometimes  it  takes  a whole  winter  to  make  one  basket.  The  art  is  dying 
out  as  the  young  girls  are  losing  their  interest  in  basketry. 


After  the  return  from  a lucky  whaling  trip,  especially  if  belugas  have 
been  killed,  the  natives  dress  in  full  regalia  and  have  a “whale  dance.” 


THE  ALEUTIAN  ISLANDS 


of  water  with  banks  of  ice  on  each  side.  Sometimes  the 
earliest  passengers  are  landed  upon  the  ice  and  the  ships 
are  frozen  in. 

I shall  not  forget  my  first  sight  of  the  Aleutian  Islands. 
We  had  passed  no  land  for  two  days  when  we  came  to  the 
Island  of  Unimak,  at  the  end  of  the  Alaska  Peninsula, 
which  forms  the  beginning  of  the  great  chain  of  islets 
reaching  from  Alaska  almost  to  Asia.  The  islands  lie 
in  a crescent,  like  stepping  stones  over  the  sea.  They  form 
the  arc  of  an  enormous  circle  reaching  from  the  western 
to  the  eastern  hemisphere.  Unimak  lies  on  our  side  of  the 
world,  but  Attu,  the  last  of  our  islands,  is  in  the  Orient 
fifteen  hundred  miles  distant  and  not  very  far  from 
Kamchatka.  At  our  coaling  station  on  the  Island  of 
Kaska,  which  is  in  the  eastern  hemisphere,  the  evening 
twilight  has  not  disappeared  when  the  sun  is  rising  in 
Maine.  John  Bull  often  boasts  that  the  sun  never  sets 
on  British  possessions.  The  same  is  true  of  Uncle  Sam’s 
dominions,  when  we  take  in  Attu  Island  and  the  Philip- 
pine Archipelago. 

The  Aleutians  are  the  heads  of  volcanoes  which  have 
been  almost  drowned  in  the  sea.  The  Island  of  Unimak 
has  two  active  volcanoes.  Shishaldin,  the  highest  of  these 
mountains,  has  an  altitude  of  more  than  nine  thousand 
feet.  We  could  see  it  plainly  as  we  sailed  through  Unimak 
Pass.  The  foothills  were  green,  but  far  up  the  sides  the 
grass  was  lost  in  the  snow  of  the  mountains  and  the  peak 
was  hidden  in  clouds.  During  our  passage  the  sun  seemed 
to  set  between  the  ship  and  the  island.  There  was  a great 
black  cloud  floating  in  the  sky  between  us  and  Unimak. 
Out  of  the  bottom  of  the  cloud  came  four  broad  shafts  of 
light,  making  a translucent  veil  between  the  ship  and  the 

241 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


island,  and  losing  themselves  in  the  sea.  Through  the 
rainbow-hued  shafts  we  could  plainly  see  the  smoky  out- 
lines of  the  island  beyond.  The  rays  of  the  sun  seemed 
to  mark  the  end  of  this  side  of  the  world  and  Unimak  to 
belong  to  the  other  side.  Above  the  black  cloud  from 
which  came  the  rainbow  veil  the  sky  was  a brilliant  blue, 
and  higher  still  were  golden  clouds  painted  by  the  hidden 
sun.  It  was  a combination  of  sky  and  land  and  sea  that 
1 have  never  seen  in  any  other  part  of  the  world. 

Unimak,  the  largest  of  the  Aleutian  Islands,  guards  the 
chief  pass  into  Bering  Sea.  Near  it  is  Unalaska,  upon 
which  is  Dutch  Harbour,  one  of  the  safe  ports  of  the 
territory.  The  harbour  is  on  a bay  backed  by  hills 
sloping  gently  up  from  the  water  until  they  are  lost  in 
high  mountains  behind.  Captain  Cook  landed  there  just 
two  years  after  we  declared  our  independence  of  England. 
The  Aleutians  had  been  discovered  by  Vitus  Bering  in 
1741,  but  Cook  was  the  first  one  to  tell  the  English  much 
about  them.  He  found  the  natives  gentle  and  inoffensive 
and  said  that  they  might  serve  as  a pattern  to  the  most 
civilized  nation  on  earth.  He  described  them  as  short, 
plump,  and  well  formed.  The  women  wore  garments  of 
sealskin,  and  some  of  the  men  had  clothes  made  of  bird- 
skins,  with  the  feathers  next  to  their  flesh.  The  men  had 
holes  in  their  lips  in  which  they  wore  buttons  of  bone. 
Their  houses  were  holes  in  the  earth  covered  with  a frame- 
work of  driftwood  and  held  up  by  whalebone.  They 
entered  through  a dark  tunnel,  going  down  a ladder. 
The  principal  room  was  from  ten  to  twenty  feet  in  dia- 
meter. They  used  lamps  for  heating,  and  their  household 
utensils  consisted  of  bowls,  spoons,  and  buckets,  the  latter 
made  of  straw  closely  woven. 

242 


THE  ALEUTIAN  ISLANDS 


When  the  Russians  took  possession  there  were  about 
thirty  thousand  of  these  Aleuts  on  the  islands.  They  were 
hunters  and  fishers  and  were  skilled  in  catching  the  sea 
otter,  then  about  the  most  valuable  fur  known.  The 
Russians  exploited  the  Aleuts  to  such  an  extent  that  they 
were  almost  exterminated.  They  have  continued  to 
decrease  since  we  bought  Alaska,  and  it  is  doubtful  whether 
there  are  a thousand  of  them  living  to-day.  At  Dutch 
Harbour  and  on  some  of  the  other  islands  the  people  are 
now  living  in  buildings  erected  by  the  whites,  but  on 
many  of  the  islets  they  have  homes  half  underground, 
living  much  as  they  did  when  Captain  Cook  came.  They 
are  very  poor,  and  now  that  the  Government  has  made  a 
bird  and  game  reservation  of  the  Aleutians,  their  condition 
is  worse  than  ever.  According  to  the  present  law,  one  has 
to  have  a permit  from  the  Government  before  he  can  hunt 
game  in  these  islands.  Dr.  Lester  Jones,  who,  as  a rep- 
resentative of  the  Department  of  Commerce,  travelled 
among  them  a few  years  ago,  said  that  some  of  the  islanders 
live  eight  hundred  miles  from  a post  office  and  that  getting 
a hunting  permit  might  mean  thirty-four  hundred  miles  of 
canoe  travel  back  and  forth  to  the  mail.  It  would  prob- 
ably take  several  months  to  get  such  a permit  and  there 
could  be  no  surety  as  to  just  when  the  reply  would  arrive. 

I am  surprised  at  the  climate  of  the  Aleutians.  Their 
summers  are  cooler  than  Sitka,  while  their  winter  weather 
is  milder  than  that  of  either  Tennessee  or  Kentucky.  At 
Unalaska  the  average  January  temperature  is  thirty 
degrees  above  zero.  All  of  the  islands  are  damp  and 
foggy.  The  rainfall  is  about  ten  inches  a month,  and 
Unalaska  is  said  to  have  two  hundred  and  fifty  rainy 
days  in  the  year. 


243 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


On  the  island  of  Akutan  is  one  of  the  two  whaling 
stations  now  operated  in  Alaska.  The  other  is  at  Port 
Armstrong  on  the  southern  end  of  Baranof  Island,  about 
a thousand  miles  north  of  Seattle. 

Conditions  have  greatly  changed  in  the  whaling  in- 
dustry since  some  of  our  Yankee  forefathers  made  for- 
tunes in  the  business.  In  place  of  their  little  sailing  ships, 
large  steamers,  painted  sea-green,  are  used.  The  harpoon 
is  now  fired  from  a three-inch  gun  and  attached  to  a cable 
operated  by  a steam  winch,  which  pulls  in  the  whale  after 
it  has  been  speared.  The  whaling  vessels  have  air  com- 
pressors for  inflating  the  bodies  of  the  whales  after  they 
have  been  killed,  so  that  they  can  be  more  easily  towed 
through  the  water.  The  best  whalers  to-day  are  Nor- 
wegians who  are  found  in  all  the  seas  where  whales  are 
hunted.  The  largest  catches  are  in  the  world's  southern- 
most waters,  the  number  taken  in  oceans  of  Europe  and 
North  America  being  hardly  one  fourth  of  the  whole. 

Whale  beef  is  said  to  be  both  palatable  and  nutritious 
and  has  occasionally  been  sold  in  American  markets.  A 
single  whale  will  furnish  as  much  meat  as  one  hundred  of 
the  largest  Shorthorn  cattle.  The  flesh  is  ordinarily  used 
only  for  fertilizer,  along  with  the  bones,  and  sells  for  very 
little  money,  while  the  oil  brings  only  a fraction  of  the 
former  price,  and  the  once  enormous  sales  of  whalebone 
have  shrunk  to  almost  nothing.  It  has  been  suggested 
that  the  fish  canneries  might  put  up  whale  meat  during 
the  several  months  each  year  that  they  now  stand  idle. 

Whale  fishing  in  Alaskan  waters  is  very  dangerous,  for 
if  the  vessels  stay  north  too  long  they  run  the  risk  of  being 
caught  in  the  ice.  Once  three  hundred  whalers  from  a 
fleet  of  eight  vessels  were  forced  to  winter  at  Point  Barrow 

244 


As  the  Eskimo  whaler  waits  for  the  ice  pack  to  go  out  so  he  may  harpoon 
his  prey  in  the  open  sea,  he  often  spears  a seal  as  it  comes  up  to  a hole  in 
the  ice  to  breathe. 


The  beluga  whale  is  almost  pure  white  and  is  often  twelve  feet  long.  So- 
called  “porpoise  leather”  is  made  from  its  hide,  and  often  as  much  as  one 
hundred  gallons  of  oil  are  obtained  from  a single  carcass. 


The  people  of  Kodiak  are  far  ahead  of  natives  in  other  parts  of  Alaska. 
The  island  quickly  recovered  from  the  thick  blanket  of  volcanic  ash 
showered  on  it  bv  Mt.  Katmai  across  Shelikof  Strait. 


I n Unalaska  may  still  be  seen  the  barabaras,  used  long  ago  by  the  Aleuts. 
Over  a shallow  circular  excavation  was  erected  a framework  of  driftwood 
or  whalebone  which  was  covered  with  sod. 


THE  ALEUTIAN  ISLANDS 


and  would  have  starved  to  deathdf  the  United  States  Gov- 
ernment had  not  sent  a relief  expedition  with  a herd  of 
reindeer  for  food. 

It  is  questionable  whether  the  Aleutians  will  ever 
support  any  considerable  population.  So  far  they  have 
no  whites  except  a few  fox  farmers  who  are  trying  to  raise 
blue  foxes.  There  has  been  some  talk  of  using  the  islands 
for  dairying,  but  there  is  a difference  of  opinion  as  to 
whether  it  would  pay.  The  climate  is  so  damp  that  grain 
will  not  mature,  though  grasses  of  all  kinds  grow  in  abun- 
dance, and  on  the  lowlands  there  is  more  or  less  grass 
throughout  the  year.  The  soil  is  a vegetable  mold  mixed 
with  volcanic  ash.  The  country  is  very  rugged,  and 
there  are  no  places  where  farms  of  any  size  could  be  made. 

There  is  no  doubt  that  cattle  can  be  raised  on  the  Island 
of  Kodiak,  but  Kodiak  is  not  one  of  the  Aleutians.  It 
lies  far  to  the  eastward,  being  only  about  two  hundred 
miles  west  of  Seward.  It  is  south  of  the  Alaskan  Penin- 
sula, and  separated  from  it  by  Shelikof  Strait.  Kodiak 
is  the  largest  of  the  Alaskan  islands.  Its  area  is  almost 
as  great  as  the  state  of  Connecticut  and  it  raises  some  of 
the  finest  grass  that  waves  under  the  American  flag.  The 
island  is  for  the  most  part  treeless  and  the  hills  are  covered 
with  green.  The  Russians  raised  cattle  there  and  Ameri- 
cans had  farms  under  cultivation  as  far  back  as  1880. 
The  government  stock  farm  is  at  the  eastern  end,  about 
fifteen  miles  from  the  harbour  and  town  of  Kodiak. 
The  town  has  several  hundred  people,  nearly  all  of  whom 
have  gardens  in  which  they  raise  cabbages,  potatoes,  and 
turnips.  Some  of  them  keep  cattle  and  put  up  some  hay 
to  be  used  during  the  snowstorms. 

The  experiment  station  has  barns  and  silos  and  all  the 

245 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


equipment  of  a modern  cattle  farm.  The  fields  are  fenced 
with  barbed  wire  and  the  stables  are  of  modern  construc- 
tion. There  is  a dairy  building  equipped  with  separators 
and  other  butter-making  machinery,  and  experiments  in 
breeding  cattle  suited  to  the  climate  are  carried  on.  So 
far  the  best  animals  have  been  found  to  be  Galloways,  as 
they  have  long  coats  of  hair  which  afford  protection  from 
the  rainy  weather.  They  are  good  rustlers  and  feed  out 
of  doors  a great  part  of  the  winter. 

Though  hardy  cattle,  the  Galloways  are  poor  milkers, 
and  it  is  now  proposed  to  cross  them  with  the  Tibetan 
or  Mongolian  yak.  The  director  of  the  Russian  experi- 
ment station  at  Irkutsk,  Siberia,  states  that  the  yak  cross- 
breeds readily  with  domestic  cattle.  The  hybrids  are 
more  or  less  sterile,  but  some  of  them  are  breeders,  and 
if  a strain  could  be  established  it  would  be  of  great  advan- 
tage to  Alaska.  The  Siberian  yak  are  good  for  milk  and 
beef  and  also  as  draft  animals  and  burden  bearers.  The 
Canadian  Government  has  given  the  Fairbanks  station  a 
male  and  a female  yak,  bred  in  the  Dominion  national 
park  at  Banff,  so  that  crossing  them  with  the  Galloways 
can  now  be  tried. 

The  hills  of  Kodiak  Island  are  still  covered  with  the 
ashes  of  the  Katmai  volcano  which  fell  there  in  1912. 
The  volcano  is  only  ninety  miles  northwest  of  Kodiak, 
and  the  ashes  were  carried  over  the  island  by  a wind 
which  blew  for  two  days  during  the  eruption.  For  forty- 
eight  hours  ashes  fell  like  snow  until  they  had  covered  the 
whole  island  to  a depth  of  eighteen  inches.  There  were 
numerous  slides  of  ashes  down  the  hills  and  mountainsides, 
and  where  they  drifted  they  swept  away  fences  and  al- 
most buried  some  of  the  experiment  station  buildings. 

246 


THE  ALEUTIAN  ISLANDS 


Some  of  the  sheep  and  calves  were  suffocated,  and  the 
livestock  outside  the  barns  were  without  feed  during  two 
whole  days.  When  the  eruption  stopped,  the  vegetation 
was  covered  with  this  volcanic  dust  and  almost  all  the 
pasture  was  destroyed.  When  the  rains  came  the  ashes 
flowed  into  the  creeks  and  formed  dangerous  quicksands. 
The  sheep  would  lie  down  at  night  in  what  seemed  per- 
fectly dry  places  and  by  morning  find  themselves  so 
mired  that  they  could  not  get  out.  To  make  matters 
worse,  the  bear  of  Kodiak,  unable  to  get  pasturage  on  the 
hills  or  fish  from  the  streams,  came  down  from  the  moun- 
tains to  prey  upon  the  stock. 

All  the  springs  were  choked  up  and  it  was  necessary  to 
dig  a well  to  water  the  cattle.  At  last  hay  was  shipped 
in  for  feed,  and  later  some  of  the  stock  was  taken  away  to 
be  kept  over  winter. 

Though  it  was  feared  the  eruption  had  ruined  the  island 
for  agricultural  purposes,  grain  was  planted  the  next  year, 
and  it  was  found  that  the  ashes  have  acted  upon  the  soil 
like  a thick  coat  of  fertilizer.  The  grass  has  come  up 
through  it  and  is  growing  better  than  ever.  The  crops  are 
thriving,  and  the  present  condition  of  the  island  is  better 
than  it  was  before. 

The  great  shower  of  ashes  from  Mount  Katmai  led  to 
the  discovery  a few  years  later  of  the  "Valley  of  Ten 
Thousand  Smokes,”  which  was  added  to  the  wonders  of 
the  world  by  the  tremendous  eruption. 

While  making  a study  of  Mount  Katmai  for  the  Na- 
tional Geographic  Society,  Professor  Robert  F.  Griggs, 
of  Ohio  State  University,  found  adjacent  to  the  volcano  a 
valley  from  which  arose  tens  of  thousands  of  clouds  and 
pillars  of  steam  and  other  hot  gases.  Subsequent  expedi- 

247 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 

tions  sent  to  Alaska  by  the  Society  and  headed  by  Pro- 
fessor Griggs  made  complete  explorations  not  only  of  the 
valley  of  the  smokes  but  of  the  surrounding  area. 

Professor  Griggs  found  that  the  eruption  of  Katmai, 
with  a force  many  times  greater  than  that  cf  any  other 
volcanic  upheaval,  blew  off  the  entire  top  of  the  mountain. 
It  formed  a crater  three  miles  wide,  at  the  bottom  of  which 
is  now  a vitriol-green  lake  of  unknown  depth.  The  ex- 
plosion also  opened  a great  fissure  in  the  earth,  underlying 
the  Valley  of  the  Ten  Thousand  Smokes  and  extending 
many  miles  beyond.  Explorations  showed  that  the  valley 
with  its  numerous  branches  has  a total  length  of  thirty- 
two  miles  and  an  area  of  seventy-two  square  miles.  In- 
stead of  ten  thousand  smokes,  there  are  believed  to  be 
millions  of  vents,  craters,  and  fissures,  through  which 
clouds  of  vapour  are  bursting  forth  from  the  bowels  of  the 
earth.  The  region  is  a veritable  modern  inferno.  One 
member  of  Professor  Griggs’s  party  likened  it  to  “the 
devil’s  private  corner  of  hell.’’  In  some  places  the  hot 
gases  rush  out  with  a roar,  in  others  they  make  a grum- 
bling sound,  while  in  still  others  they  only  whisper.  Tem- 
peratures high  enough  to  melt  zinc  have  been  recorded. 
All  the  ground  is  hot,  and  the  explorers  regularly  cooked 
their  meals  over  the  smaller  vents.  Much  of  the  surface 
is  burned  red,  while  the  evil-smelling  gases  have  left 
brilliantly  coloured  incrustations  at  the  edges  of  craters 
and  fumaroles.  The  region  contains  a lake  of  warm  water 
in  which  float  miniature  icebergs,  and  the  valley  is  filled, 
according  to  the  few  who  have  ever  seen  it,  with  such 
startling  phenomena  as  to  give  a weird,  uncanny  im- 
pression of  being  in  another  world. 

As  a result  of  the  reports  of  the  Katmai  expeditions, 

248 


THE  ALEUTIAN  ISLANDS 


President  Wilson  set  aside  the  Mount  Katmai  region  as  a 
national  reservation  like  Yellowstone  Park  and  the  Grand 
Canyon.  Thousands  will  in  future  years  visit  this  spec- 
tacle of  the  tremendous  volcanic  forces  of  the  earth  in 
operation.  Mount  Katmai  is  only  twenty-five  miles 
from  the  coast  which  lies  near  one  of  the  main  steamer 
routes  to  Alaska.  If  a motor  road  were  built,  the  tourist 
might  leave  his  steamer  after  breakfast,  ride  through  the 
volcanic  region,  and  be  back  in  time  for  dinner  on  board 
(ship. 

The  scientists  who  have  studied  the  Valley  of  the  Ten 
Thousand  Smokes  believe  that  it  will  remain  in  its  present 
state  for  many  years,  and  that  it  represents  on  a vastly 
greater  scale  what  was  the  condition  in  the  geyser  area  of 
Yellowstone  Park  countless  ages  ago. 


249 


CHAPTER  XXXI 


THE  CITY  OF  SEWARD 

SEWARD  is  the  southern  terminus  of  Alaska’s  new 
railroad  and,  so  the  Sewardites  say,  the  country’s 
chief  ocean  port  of  the  future.  Its  citizens  are  al- 
ready comparing  it  with  Stockholm,  which  has 
almost  four  hundred  thousand  inhabitants,  and  they 
claim  that  it  will  be  the  gateway  to  resources  equal  to 
those  of  the  four  Scandinavian  countries.  They  point 
out  that  Norway,  Finland,  Sweden,  and  Denmark,  which 
are  in  the  same  latitude  and  have  much  the  same  climate, 
have  a population  of  over  fourteen  millions  and  say  that 
Alaska  will  some  day  have  twenty  millions  or  more. 

Seward  is  situated  on  the  great  Gulf  of  Alaska  at  about 
the  middle  of  the  southern  coast  of  the  territory.  It  is  on 
Resurrection  Bay,  a magnificent  inlet  at  the  lower  end  of 
the  Kenai  Peninsula,  so  surrounded  by  mountains  and 
guarded  by  islands  that  within  its  harbour  ships  are  as 
safe  as  alongside  the  docks  of  Hamburg  or  Liverpool. 

The  city  is  as  far  from  Ketchikan,  where  the  Seattle 
steamers  make  their  first  stop,  as  the  distance  from  New 
York  to  Cleveland.  It  is  only  five  or  six  days  from 
Seattle,  although  without  stops  the  voyage  could  be  easily 
made  in  less  than  three  days.  By  the  new  railway  line  it 
is  within  five  hundred  miles  of  Fairbanks  from  which  a 
great  part  of  interior  Alaska  can  be  reached  by  the  river 
steamers. 


2^0 


THE  CITY  OF  SEWARD 


But  come  with  me  as  I climb  the  wall  of  the  great  moun- 
tain that  rises  straight  up  on  one  side  of  Resurrection 
Bay  and  get  a bird’s-eye  view  of  the  town.  Leaving  the 
wharves  and  passing  through  the  business  and  residential 
sections,  we  shall  make  our  way  through  the  moss,  and 
after  pulling  ourselves  from  one  tree  root  to  another,  shall 
finally  stand  high  over  the  harbour. 

The  mountain  wall  rises  sheer  above  Seward  to  a height 
of  several  thousand  feet,  losing  itself  in  the  great  range 
that  bounds  this  side  of  the  harbour  and  fading  away  into 
the  snow-capped  peaks  behind.  The  first  hundred  feet  is 
covered  with  green  trees,  some  of  which  are  two  feet  in 
diameter.  They  cling  to  the  rocks  and  grow  straight  up, 
forming  palisades,  as  it  were.  Among  them  are  bushes, 
making  a jungle  that  reminds  me  of  the  lower  slopes  of  the 
Himalayas.  There  are  giant  ferns  under  alder  trees  and 
salmonberry  bushes,  the  whole  growing  out  of  a deep 
bed  of  moss  into  which  our  feet  sink  as  though  into 
feathers. 

At  the  left,  looking  out  through  the  dark  spruce,  we  can 
see  the  white  glacial  waters  of  Lowell  Creek  roaring  as 
they  rush  foaming  over  the  rocks  down  into  Resurrection 
Bay.  They  cut  their  way  through  the  upper  part  of  the 
town  and  pass  under  the  railway  embankment  which 
circles  the  harbour. 

Turning  about,  we  can  see  Resurrection  River,  which 
comes  in  at  the  end  of  the  bay,  and  across  the  inlet  an- 
other mountain  wall  rises  before  us.  Its  peaks  are  of 
black  volcanic  rock,  and  in  its  hollows  nestle  glaciers  of 
pale  green  ice  that  the  sun  turns  into  emeralds.  High 
up  on  the  mountainsides  are  patches  of  snow  gleaming 
like  silver  against  the  black  cliffs,  and  below,  rising  a 

251 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


thousand  or  more  feet  from  the  water,  is  the  great  blanket 
of  forest  green  that  covers  southern  Alaska. 

This  forest-clad  wall  extends  to  the  end  of  the  harbour 
where  it  drops  into  the  sea.  Beyond  it  are  the  moun- 
tainous islands  that  guard  the  bay  and  make  it  almost 
landlocked.  At  first  sight  the  land  seems  continuous,  but 
there  is  a narrow  passage  between  Fox  Island  and  the 
Kenai  Peninsula  so  that  the  shipping  of  the  world  can 
sail  in  and  out. 

The  bay  itself  is  about  sixteen  miles  long  and  is  pro- 
tected on  all  sides  from  the  gales.  Its  waters  are  from 
iix  hundred  to  twelve  hundred  feet  deep,  so  deep  that  the 
only  anchorage  outside  the  wharves  is  at  Sunny  Cove  off 
Fox  Island,  where,  for  an  area  of  about  three  hundred  and 
twenty  acres,  the  water  is  shallow  enough  for  ships’ 
anchors  to  reach  bottom. 

I have  visited  most  of  the  great  harbours  of  the  world, 
including  the  Golden  Horn,  at  Constantinople,  the  land- 
locked channel  of  Sydney,  Australia,  and  the  wonderful 
Bay  of  Rio  de  Janeiro.  The  harbour  of  Seward  is  as 
beautiful  as  any  of  these,  and  has  wonders  that  the 
others  know  not.  Its  surroundings  of  green,  mixed  with 
glaciers  and  snow,  are  like  those  of  no  other  harbour  on 
the  face  of  the  earth.  The  whole  is  a mighty  amphi- 
theatre of  green  lowland  and  blue  waters,  of  snow-capped 
mountains  and  glacier-clad  hills,  roofed  by  the  clear  sky. 

It  is  in  the  arena  of  this  amphitheatre  that  Seward  has 
so  recently  come  into  existence.  On  the  north  side  of  the 
bay  and  running  back  to  the  mouth  of  Resurrection 
River  is  a plain  giving  enough  space  for  a large  city,  but  as 
yet  having  houses  only  on  a spit  of  land  that  juts  out  into 
the  sea.  There  the  ships  lie  at  the  wharves  built  upon 

252 


One  Easter  Sunday,  more  than  a century  ago,  the  Russians  discovered 
a magnificent  deepwater  harbour  on  Kenai  Peninsula  and  named  it  Resur- 
rection Bay.  Here,  when  several  years  passed  with  no  supply  ship  from 
home,  they  built  the  first  vessels  launched  by  white  men  on  the  western 
shore  of  North  America. 


The  laying  of  the  Alaska  Northern  Railway  developed  Seward  from  a 
scattered  settlement  to  a go-ahead  Alaska  town.  The  railway  paid  the 
half-breed  wife  of  a renegade  “squaw-man”  four  thousand  dollars  for  the 
site. 


Glacier-scoured  and  snow-capped  mountains  tower  above  Resurrection 
Bay,  while  close  to  the  shore  are  dense  spruce  forests  and  wild  red-top 
grass.  The  forests  are  carpeted  with  deep  moss  as  soft  as  a feather  bed. 


THE  CITY  OF  SEWARD 


piles.  The  business  section  of  the  city  is  back  of  the 
wharves,  where  for  perhaps  one  third  of  a mile  the  ground 
rises,  giving  excellent  drainage.  Here  the  streets  climb 
the  hills  and  then  go  over  a slope  that  rolls  gently  on  until 
it  reaches  the  mountain  wall  in  the  rear. 

The  better  houses  are  pretty  bungalows  and  artistic 
cottages.  Nearly  all  have  smooth  green  lawns  with 
flowers  and  plants.  The  houses,  though  small,  are  com- 
fortable and  well  furnished.  They  have  electric  lights  and 
all  the  modern  conveniences.  Board  sidewalks  have  been 
built,  and  a bridge  of  planks  crosses  the  ravine  through 
which  flows  Lowell  Creek. 

The  new  homes  of  Seward  are  beyond  these  bungalows. 
There  the  west  bank  of  Resurrection  River  has  been  laid 
out  in  town  lots  and  real-estate  signs  are  scattered  among 
the  tents  and  shacks.  There  are  many  tents  with  walls 
and  floors  of  boards.  The  average  board  shack,  which 
may  form  the  home  of  a family  of  from  two  to  a dozen,  is 
not  more  than  ten  by  twelve  feet  in  area. 

The  business  section  of  Seward  already  fills  two  or  three 
streets  close  to  the  wharves.  The  main  street  has  been 
macadamized  and  concrete  sidewalks  have  been  laid. 
The  business  buildings  are  of  one  and  two  stories.  Some 
of  them  are  of  frame,  others  are  of  galvanized  iron.  Mid- 
way in  one  block  1 saw  a shed  consisting  only  of  an  iron 
roof  upheld  by  poles.  It  had  chairs  under  it  and  was 
labelled  the  “Royal  Bootblack  Parlour.” 

Seward  has  a number  of  restaurants  and  several  hotels. 

I am  living  in  a hotel  facing  the  harbour,  with  a half- 
dozen  small  glaciers  in  sight  over  the  way.  I have  two 
connecting  rooms,  lighted  by  electricity  and  heated  by 
stoves,  the  charge  for  which  is  two  dollars  and  a half  per 

253 


ALASKA — OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 

jay.  On  the  same  floor  is  a porcelain  bathtub  which  l 
can  use  for  fifty  cents  extra  and  have  hot  water  therewith 
if  the  order  is  given  beforehand.  As  is  common  in  Alaska, 
the  hotel  has  no  eating  accommodations,  but  I get  excel- 
lent meals  at  the  restaurants  on  the  main  street  two  blocks 
away,  where  1 can  dine  fairly  well  for  seventy-five  cents. 

The  port  of  Seward  is  ice-free  the  year  round.  Deep- 
draft  vessels  can  come  in  on  any  day  of  the  year.  The 
winter  climate  of  this  coastal  region  is  not  much  colder 
than  that  of  Seattle  or  Portland,  and  it  is  warmer  than 
either  Norfolk  or  Baltimore.  The  temperature  ranges 
from  fifty  to  eighty-five  degrees  above  zero  in  summer  and 
from  thirty  to  fifty  degrees  above  zero  in  winter.  Once 
the  thermometer  fell  to  seven  below  zero  but  that  is  the 
coldest  on  record.  The  rainfall  is  about  the  same  as  that 
of  Ohio  and  Virginia,  the  total  precipitation  being  forty- 
two  inches  per  year. 

It  seems  strange  to  think  of  going  bare-footed  in  Alaska, 
but  the  children  of  Seward  do  that  all  summer  long. 
They  go  bathing  in  the  waters  of  Resurrection  Bay,  and 
swimming  parties  to  Lake  Kenai,  some  distance  back  in  the 
country,  are  among  the  features  of  their  picnic  excursions. 

When  the  Government  took  over  the  Alaska  Northern 
company’s  railroad  there  was  a big  jump  in  land  values. 
Business  property  trebled  and  quadrupled  in  price,  and  the 
same  was  true  of  the  suburbs.  The  prices  of  land  are 
high,  but  it  will  be  long  before  the  city  will  come  up  to 
the  expectations  of  its  owners.  The  present  additions  to 
the  townsite  are  at  the  head  of  Resurrection  Bay,  where 
tents  have  been  erected,  frame  buildings  put  up,  and 
families  located.  For  ten  miles  up  the  valley  of  Resur- 
rection River  men  have  taken  up  homesteads,  and  farms 

254 


THE  CITY  OF  SEWARD 


the  size  of  garden  patches  are  being  cultivated  here  and 
there.  Some  of  the  homesteads  were  applied  for  ten  years 
ago,  but  owing  to  government  red-tape  as  to  titles  the 
applicants  have  not  been  able  to  complete  their  ownership. 

Resurrection  Bay  was  named  by  the  Russians,  who  dis- 
covered the  harbour  on  an  Easter  Sunday.  There  was 
a white  settlement  here  when  the  first  public  buildings  of 
Washington  began  to  go  up  on  the  banks  of  the  Potomac. 
The  first  residents  were  Russians,  who  had  a colony  on 
Kodiak  Island  about  two  hundred  miles  distant.  They 
came  here  to  build  ships,  choosing  the  place  on  account 
of  the  harbour  and  the  timber  near  by.  The  first  ships 
built  on  the  western  shores  of  North  America  were  con- 
structed here,  and  one  of  them  was  launched  when  George 
Washington  was  still  serving  his  first  term  as  president. 
Later,  when  the  seat  of  the  Russian  administration  was 
transferred  from  Kodiak  to  Sitka,  the  shipyards  were 
given  up. 

After  the  Russians  left,  Resurrection  Bay  was  fre- 
quented by  the  Indians,  who  came  here  to  hunt  and  fish; 
and  then,  perhaps  a hundred  years  later,  a white  man 
named  Frank  Lowell,  a sailor  from  Maine,  settled  where 
Seward  now  stands.  He  had  a wife  of  mixed  Indian  and 
Russian  blood,  and  was  one  of  the  class  popularly  known 
as  “squaw  men.”  After  he  had  lived  here  for  ten  or 
twelve  years,  along  about  1 890,  Lowell  deserted  his  wife  and 
his  five  children  and  emigrated  to  Kodiak.  Mrs.  Lowell 
remained  and  was  on  the  ground  and  claimed  ownership  at 
the  time  that  the  Alaska  Northern  Railway  Company 
selected  Resurrection  Bay  as  the  southern  terminus  of 
its  line.  She  received  four  thousand  dollars  in  cash  and 
thirty-seven  town  lots  from  the  company  for  her  claims. 

255 


CHAPTER  XXXII 


ACROSS  KENAI  ON  HORSEBACK 

IMAGINE  a wild  virgin  region  larger  than  Massachu- 
setts with  almost  three  fourths  as  much  good  land  as 
the  Bay  State,  with  warmer  winters  and  cooler 
summers  and  with  rainfall  sufficient  to  raise  hardy 
crops.  It  is  a country  of  surpassing  beauty — a region  of 
rivers  and  lakes  and  beautiful  valleys,  with  mountains 
equal  to  the  Alps  in  their  grandeur  and  with  glaciers 
surpassing  any  known  to  the  continent  of  Europe.  Let 
the  country  be  one  of  big  game,  moose,  bear,  and  deer, 
wild  fowl  of  all  kinds,  and  fish  without  number.  With 
this  picture  in  your  mind  you  will  have  a glimpse  of  the 
Kenai  Peninsula  of  Alaska,  one  of  the  richest  districts 
tapped  by  the  new  railroad. 

1 can  tell  you  something  of  Kenai,  as  I have  just 
crossed  the  peninsula.  Leaving  Seward,  I went  as  far 
as  Mile  Twenty-nine  on  the  Alaska  Northern  line,  which 
Uncle  Sam  took  over,  and  then  went  on  horseback  over  the 
mountains  through  Moose  Pass  to  the  little  mining 
camp  of  Sunrise,  not  far  from  the  eastern  end  of  the 
Turnagain  Arm.  I saw  scarcely  a dozen  people  while  on 
the  way.  The  country  has  hardly  been  prospected,  and 
there  are  parts  of  the  interior  that  have  never  been  trodden 
by  the  foot  of  white  man. 

The  railroad  trip  from  Seward  to  Kenai  Lake  is  one 
of  the  wonder  rides  of  the  world.  You  go  up  the  valley 

256 


ACROSS  KENAI  ON  HORSEBACK 


which  ends  in  Resurrection  Bay  amid  the  most  magnifi- 
cent of  mountains.  It  is  as  though  Switzerland  came 
down  to  the  ocean,  and  you  could  ride  under  its  glaciers 
and  snows  through  valleys  and  hillsides  of  vivid  green. 
There  are  rushing  streams  and  winding  lakes.  There  are 
great  canyons  and  forest-clad  cliffs.  There  are  open 
parks  made  by  Nature  carpeted  with  ferns  and  wild  flowers 
and  grass  growing  waist-high.  Lungs  and  nostrils  are 
filled  with  the  sweet  air  from  the  spruces  on  the  mountain- 
sides. 

Six  miles  from  Seward  is  Bear  Lake,  set  in  the  midst  of  a 
natural  park  surrounded  by  snow-capped  mountains  on 
the  sides  of  which  hang  glaciers  of  sapphire  and  forests  of 
emerald.  The  region  is  called  Woodrow  Park  after 
President  Wilson.  There  is  a roadhouse  on  the  edge  of 
it  near  a clear,  rushing  trout  stream.  The  place  is  a 
picnic  and  summer  resort  and  the  bungalows  scattered 
about  under  the  trees  remind  one  of  a Chautauqua  or  a 
camp-meeting  ground. 

Going  on  to  the  north,  we  passed  tiny  homesteads  cut 
out  of  the  woods.  At  Mile  Twelve  I saw  an  abandoned 
log  cabin  which  had  been  occupied  last  summer  by  some 
city  chaps  who  had  come  there  to  hunt.  They  had  ex- 
pected to  stay  a week  cr  ten  days  but  had  remained  more 
than  two  months.  Nevertheless,  their  actual  cash  outlay 
for  food  during  that  time  was  less  than  ten  dollars.  They 
spent  five  dollars  for  flour,  potatoes,  and  coffee,  and  the 
rest  of  their  food  was  the  fish,  game,  and  berries  they  found 
in  the  woods. 

Beginning  at  Mile  Nineteen,  Kenai  Lake  winds  about 
through  the  mountains  for  twenty-seven  miles.  It  is 
only  a mile  or  so  wide,  and  no  one  knows  how  deep. 


2^7 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


Soundings  have  been  made  to  thirteen  hundred  and  fifty 
feet  below  the  surface  but  the  bottom  was  not  reached. 
The  mountains  are  snow-capped,  and  high  up  on  the  sides 
of  the  green,  below  the  snow  line,  you  can  see  the  trails 
made  by  the  mountain  sheep.  The  surroundings  are 
mirrored  in  the  crystal-clear  waters  of  the  lake. 

At  Mile  Twenty-nine,  where  1 left  the  railroad  and  took 
horses  to  go  across  country  to  Sunrise,  is  the  roadhouse 
of  Oscar  Christensen,  a wily  Swede  who  has  a half-dozen 
horses  which  he  rents  out  for  all  that  the  traffic  will  bear. 
He  charged  me  sixteen  dollars  a day  for  two  horses  and  a 
guide,  and  told  me  that  1 could  pick  up  the  guide  on  the 
way. 

Before  leaving  1 dined  at  the  roadhouse  on  moose 
meat  or  Alaska  beef  cooked  over  the  coals  by  a six-foot 
pioneer.  His  kitchen  stove  was  a range  made  at  Hamil- 
ton, Ohio,  and  in  the  living  room  adjoining  were  chairs  and 
tables  and  a rosewood  Victrola  with  several  dozen  records 
on  top.  There  were  flowers  in  the  windows.  Around  the 
wall  were  spring  beds.  The  stove  of  the  living  room  was 
a section  of  hydraulic  pipe  as  big  around  as  a flour  barrel 
with  legs  of  gas  pipe.  It  was  long  enough  to  take  in  a 
whole  stick  of  cord  wood. 

After  leaving  the  roadhouse,  I spent  the  better  part  of 
two  days  riding  through  the  forest  to  Sunrise.  The 
horses  were  fairly  good,  but  the  saddles  were  excruciating. 

1 am  accustomed  to  riding  and  cover  about  fifteen  hundred 
miles  every  winter  in  the  parks  about  Washington.  But 
this  ride  across  Kenai  was  another  story.  Our  horses 
were  broad-backed  Percherons,  and  the  saddles  were  a 
high-pommelled  variety  so  made  that  they  threw  one 
far  to  the  front.  It  was  like  sitting  on  a sawbuck  with 

258 


ACROSS  KENAI  ON  HORSEBACK 


ill-fitting  stirrups.  It  brought  an  entire  new  set  of  muscles 
into  play  and  gave  me  the  sensations  and  pains  of  the  man 
who  takes  a long  ride  for  the  first  time.  I found  it  im- 
possible to  go  out  of  a walk,  and  when  we  came  to  a 
mining  camp,  after  fifteen  hours  in  the  saddle,  1 was  so 
stiff  that  I had  to  be  lifted  from  the  horse.  The  next 
day  I walked  part  of  the  way  and  had  to  be  lifted  off  and 
on  whenever  1 rode. 

During  my  journey  we  thought  we  were  lost.  The  guide 
failed  to  turn  up  as  expected,  and  when  he  did  so,  it  was 
already  dark.  He  took  us  along  the  sides  of  cliffs,  over  a 
trail  where  the  forest  fires  had  made  it  exceedingly 
dangerous,  and  where  we  had  to  jump  the  logs  in  the 
darkness  with  no  telling  what  might  be  on  the  opposite 
side.  1 slept  the  clock  round  after  reaching  Sunrise. 

I despair  of  making  you  see  the  beauties  of  this  trip.  I 
rode  through  one  little  valley  after  another  with  the 
grandest  of  mountains  everywhere  in  sight.  1 wound 
along  streams  where  great  red  salmon  the  colour  of  raw 
beefsteak  flashed  through  the  water.  I skirted  beautiful 
lakes  wherein  were  mirrored  towering  mountains  with 
their  wonderful  vegetation  and  curious  outlines.  The 
colour  effects  made  me  think  of  paintings  in  which  the 
pigment  is  laid  on  in  great  patches  to  get  striking  effects  of 
light  and  shade.  1 passed  through  acres  and  acres 
burned  over  by  forest  fires  where  the  grass  had  grown 
shoulder  high  and  the  flaming  fire-weed  stood  six  feet  tall. 
In  places  the  woods  were  carpeted  with  stunted  tree 
ferns. 

Sometimes  the  forests  of  spruce  were  green,  sometimes 
frosted  silver,  sometimes  pure  white.  The  silver  and 
white  trees  were  dead  or  dying  from  forest  fires,  and  their 

259 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


lace-like  branches,  turned  to  ivory,  looked  like  the  most 
exquisite  carvings. 

And  then  the  live  things  we  saw  on  the  journey.  I 
have  already  spoken  of  the  salmon.  We  could  see  the 
trout  in  the  streams,  and  I am  told  that  all  are  full  of 
grayling  and  other  fine  fish.  1 met  one  man  on  the  way 
who  had  stopped  for  an  hour  at  the  head  of  Trail  Lake 
and  caught  twenty-seven  trout,  pulling  them  out  as  fast 
as  he  could  throw  in  the  line.  I could  easily  have  caught 
salmon  and  trout  with  my  hands  in  the  smaller  streams. 

Now  and  then  during  the  journey  I started  up  coveys 
of  grouse,  some  as  big  as  chickens.  They  ran  along  in 
front  of  my  horse  for  hundreds  of  feet  like  turkeys,  and 
did  not  seem  to  be  much  afraid.  At  a cabin  where  I 
stopped  for  dinner,  a miner  cooked  some  ptarmigan  he 
had  just  killed. 

Later  on  I saw  the  tracks  of  brown  bear  here  and  there 
on  the  trail,  and  once  or  twice  scared  up  porcupines  which 
scuttled  away  through  the  grass.  My  guide  told  me  to 
be  careful  not  to  ride  over  a porcupine,  for  my  horse  would 
surely  be  lamed  by  its  quills. 

Here  at  Sunrise  1 have  had  plenty  of  fresh  game  to  eat. 
We  have  had  roast  and  broiled  moose  and  caribou  steak 
with  wild  cranberries  on  the  side.  Wild  fowl  is  plentiful 
and  there  are  excellent  fish  from  Six  Mile  River  and  Turn- 
again  Arm.  Now  and  then  bear  meat  is  brought  in, 
and  at  times  one  can  get  mountain  sheep.  The  bear  meat 
is  not  popular.  It  tastes  like  tough  beef.  The  mountain 
sheep  is  the  most  delicious  of  all  the  game  found  in  Alaska. 
Most  of  the  food  here  comes  from  the  wilds  and  can  be 
had  for  the  taking,  which  makes  the  cost  of  living  cheap. 

As  for  the  future  of  this  Alaskan  frontier  region,  it  would 

260 


The  Kenai  Peninsula  is  a wild  virgin  region  with  rivers  and  lakes  and 
beautiful  valleys,  with  glaciers  surpassing  any  in  Europe,  with  flashing 
streams  full  of  trout  and  salmon,  with  forests  abounding  in  moose,  deer, 
and  wild  fowl. 


Kenai  is  a sportsman’s  paradise.  There  is  a record  of  a hunting  party 
which  in  a two  months’  stay  spent  only  ten  dollars  for  food.  They  lived 
mostly  on  fish,  game,  and  berries  which  may  be  had  in  abundance  for 
the  taking. 


ACROSS  KENAI  ON  HORSEBACK 


seem  to  lie  mostly  in  its  farms.  The  Agricultural  De- 
partment experts  who  went  over  this  region  a few  years 
ago  have  estimated  that  there  are  on  the  Kenai  Peninsula 
and  in  the  Matanuska  and  Susitna  valleys  something 
like  four  million  acres  of  fairly  good  land.  Some  of  it  is 
covered  with  swamp  and  muskeg  which  will  need  draining, 
but  at  least  one  third  of  it  will  require  clearing  only  to  be 
made  ready  for  crops.  There  is  enough  land  of  this  kind 
to  make  more  than  eight  thousand  farms  of  a quarter  of 
a section  each,  or  four  thousand  farms  of  three  hundred 
and  twenty  acres,  which  is  the  amount  of  land  now  al- 
lowed for  a homestead  in  Alaska. 

There  is  good  forage  almost  everywhere  in  this  part  of 
Alaska,  and,  according  to  the  farming  experts,  much  of 
this  region  will  be  used  for  stock  raising. 

The  pioneer  farmer  on  Kenai  Peninsula  cannot  succeed 
without  a struggle,  however.  The  greater  part  of  the  land 
is  covered  with  moss,  which,  in  places,  is  a foot  or  so  deep. 
The  soil  is  wet,  and  so  sour  that  it  needs  lime.  It  seldom 
produces  good  crops  at  the  start  but  needs  to  be  broken 
up  and  exposed  to  the  air  to  sweeten  it.  There  are  vast 
quantities  of  muskeg,  a sort  of  marsh  consisting  of  peat  so 
saturated  with  water  that  it  is  boggy  during  the  summer. 
It  is  no  good  whatever  except  when  well  drained. 

Most  of  the  peninsula  is  well  wooded.  The  best  trees 
are  in  the  lowlands  and  on  the  lower  slopes  of  the  moun- 
tains, the  timber  stopping  at  about  two  thousand  feet. 
The  woods  are  in  groves  of  spruce,  hemlock,  and  poplar, 
with  patches  of  bushes  and  open  meadows  between. 
The  trees  are  usually  small.  A few  of  the  spruces  are 
more  than  two  feet  in  diameter,  but  many  are  no  bigger 
around  than  telegraph  poles.  The  poplars  grow  in  dense 

261 


ALASKA-OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


forests.  They  are  tall,  straight,  and  beautiful.  There 
are  cottonwoods  in  the  lowlands  that  reach  a thickness 
of  two  or  three  feet.  So  far,  much  of  the  timber  is  pro- 
tected by  the  government  reservations,  and  in  Seward 
they  pay  high  for  lumber,  which  has  been  brought  from 
Puget  Sound,  notwithstanding  the  fact  that  there  is 
fairly  good  timber  ten  or  twelve  miles  away.  Indeed, 
most  people  in  Alaska  think  the  country  is  over-conserved 
and  that  Uncle  Sam’s  fears  for  posterity  hang  like  Sind- 
bad’s  “Old  Man  of  the  Sea’’  around  the  neck  of  the 
territory. 


262 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 


/ 

OUR  NORTHERN  GAME  PRESERVE 

IN  ALASKA  the  United  States  has  one  of  the  finest 
hunting  grounds  for  big  game  in  all  the  world.  As 
the  country  is  opened  up  by  railway  lines  and  motor 
roads,  more  and  more  American  hunters  will  take 
advantage  of  the  territory's  splendid  opportunities  for 
sports,  which  are  now  but  little  known.  They  will 
swarm  over  the  Kenai  Peninsula  after  the  giant  moose 
and  the  great  brown  bear,  they  will  chase  the  caribou 
over  the  Tanana  valley,  and  will  climb  the  Alaska  Range 
to  kill  mountain  sheep  and  goats.  They  will  even  make 
excursions  to  Mount  McKinley,  and  some  may  go  farther 
north  to  hunt  the  mighty  walrus  and  the  polar  bear. 

The  Government  has  prepared  for  the  coming  of  the 
hunters  by  enacting  stringent  laws  defining  the  open 
seasons  for  certain  animals,  and  has  set  aside  great  game 
preserves,  one  of  which  surrounds  Mount  McKinley. 
Every  non-resident  of  Alaska  is  required  to  pay  from  fifty 
to  one  hundred  dollars  for  a license  to  hunt  in  the  territory 
with  an  additional  payment  of  one  hundred  and  fifty 
dollars  to  kill  moose  south  of  latitude  sixty-two. 

Moreover,  the  hunter  is  limited  in  the  number  of  animals 
he  may  kill,  and  even  the  residents  cannot  ship  out  their 
meat,  or  send  their  heads  as  trophies,  without  a special 
license  from  the  Government  of  Alaska.  It  will  cost  the 
sportsman  forty  dollars  to  export  one  moose,  but  he  can 

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ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


send  four  deer,  two  caribou,  two  sheep,  two  goats,  and  two 
brown  bear  for  ten  dollars.  The  law  forbids  hunting  of 
game  animals  with  dogs,  or  the  use  of  shotguns  larger 
than  ten  gauge. 

The  open  season  varies  in  different  parts  of  the  country. 
North  of  latitude  sixty-two  brown  bear  may  be  killed 
at  any  time,  and  moose,  caribou,  sheep,  and  sea  lions 
from  August  ist  to  December  ioth.  Walrus  may  be  killed 
from  May  ioth  to  July  ist,  and  grouse,  ptarmigan,  and 
other  birds  from  September  ist  to  March  ist. 

It  is  unlawful  for  any  person,  in  any  one  year,  to  kill 
more  than  two  moose,  one  walrus  or  sea  lion,  three  caribou, 
three  mountain  sheep,  three  brown  bear,  or  eight  deer; 
and  he  must  not  have  in  his  possession  on  any  one  day 
more  than  twenty-five  grouse  or  ptarmigan. 

On  the  Kenai  Peninsula  it  is  necessary  to  have  a 
licensed  guide  who  will  charge  from  five  to  ten  dollars  a 
day.  The  guides,  who  may  be  either  white  men  or 
Indians,  are  appointed  by  the  Governor,  and  their  names 
are  published. 

During  my  trip  across  the  Kenai  Peninsula  1 saw  several 
sportsmen  from  the  big  cities  of  the  States.  Most  of 
them  were  after  the  moose,  which  is  abundant  in  that 
region,  and  they  were  enthusiastic  over  their  prospects. 

It  is  now  prohibited  to  shoot  moose  in  Southeastern 
Alaska,  and  it  was  not  so  long  ago  that  the  restriction  on 
killing  caribou  in  the  Kenai  Peninsula  was  abolished. 
It  is  estimated  that  there  are  still  vast  numbers  of  caribou 
on  the  barren  lands  of  the  Far  North.  They  live  there 
in  the  summer  and  go  southward  in  great  herds  for  the 
winter.  Several  years  ago  a drove  of  thirty  thousand  came 
within  a mile  of  Dawson  and  fed  there  on  the  hills.  Men 

264 


OUR  NORTHERN  GAME  PRESERVE 


went  out  in  automobiles  to  see  them  and  great  numbers 
were  killed.  The  animals  did  not  seem  to  be  afraid  of  man, 
and  even  the  automobiles  did  not  create  a stampede. 

About  forty-five  miles  from  Fairbanks  is  a hill  known  as 
Porcupine  Dome,  where,  the  hunters  say,  the  caribou 
of  that  region  come  together  to  start  south  in  companies. 
They  move  in  droves  of  thousands.  After  spending  the 
winter  in  the  south,  they  begin  to  straggle  back  again  in 
herds  of  one  hundred  or  so  along  in  February  and  March. 
Caribou  are  still  seen  as  far  south  as  the  Lynn  Canal, 
over  a thousand  miles  from  their  summer  home. 

The  chief  food  of  the  caribou  is  reindeer  moss,  and  their 
favourite  feeding  grounds  are  the  treeless  parts  of  the 
territory,  including  the  tundras  along  the  coast  of  the 
Arctic  Ocean,  and  down  to  the  Pacific  side  of  the  Alaska 
Peninsula.  They  scatter  widely  in  summer  and  collect 
in  bands  in  the  fall.  Each  herd  has  its  leader,  and  it  is 
said  that  if  the  leader  is  killed,  the  rest  of  the  herd  becomes 
panic  stricken  and  stampedes  back  and  forth  until  another 
caribou  takes  command. 

One  large  drove  of  caribou  collects  almost  every  year 
along  the  watershed  between  the  Yukon  and  Tanana 
rivers.  The  hunters  from  Forty  Mile,  Eagle,  and  Circle 
and  the  other  mining  towns  of  that  region  rely  upon  it  for 
a part  of  their  meat  supply. 

I have  seen  a number  of  moose  since  I came  to  Alaska. 
I have  watched  them  swimming  in  the  Yukon  flats  as  we 
passed  through  on  the  steamboat,  and  have  picked  out 
several  with  my  field  glasses  along  the  banks  of  the  streams. 
They  range  over  the  timbered  parts  of  the  territory  and 
are  especially  plentiful  on  the  Kenai  and  Alaska  penin- 
sulas. Unlike  the  caribou,  they  feed  in  the  mixed  woods  of 

265 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


spruce,  poplar,  and  birch  along  the  river  bottoms  and  on 
the  sides  of  the  hills.  During  the  winter  they  browse  on 
the  willows  and  young  alders,  digging  the  bushes  out  of  the 
snow. 

The  Kenai  giant  moose  is  the  largest  of  the  deer  family. 
Antlers  are  offered  for  sale  which  measure  six  feet  from 
tip  to  tip,  and  now  and  then  one  finds  a pair  that  is  more 
than  six  feet  in  width. 

The  moose  are  at  their  best  at  the  close  of  the  summer, 
when  they  have  grown  fat  on  the  rich  vegetation.  They 
are  most  easily  caught  when  the  mosquitoes  are  so  bad  as 
to  drive  them  into  the  rivers  and  lakes.  In  the  winter 
they  are  hunted  by  men  upon  snowshoes.  The  moose  are 
so  heavy  that  they  sink  into  the  snow  to  their  bellies 
when  they  get  out  of  the  sheltered  places,  and  will  make 
for  a lake  or  a river  where  they  can  travel  over  the  ice 
from  which  the  snow  has  been  blown.  It  is  not  uncommon 
to  find  a baby  moose,  or  calf,  as  a pet  in  the  mining  towns. 
The  calves  are  born  during  May  and  June,  and  follow  the 
cows  until  the  next  spring. 

The  most  delicious  meat  of  Alaska  is  that  of  the  moun- 
tain sheep.  It  brings  higher  prices  than  any  other  game 
in  the  market,  but  it  is  difficult  to  get  and  the  supply 
is  never  abundant.  A hunter  at  Fairbanks  told  me  that 
he  once  saw  six  hundred  sheep  in  one  drove.  He  thought 
himself  lucky  to  have  killed  two  before  they  got  out  of 
sight.  These  wild  sheep  are  different  from  those  of  the 
Rocky  Mountains.  Their  coats  are  more  like  hair  than 
wool.  The  Dali  sheep,  named  for  William  H.  Dali,  the 
Alaskan  explorer,  is  pure  white  with  horns  of  jet  black. 

Mountain  sheep  are  most  numerous  in  the  Kenai 
Peninsula  and  in  the  Alaska  Range.  There  are  some 

266 


OUR  NORTHERN  GAME  PRESERVE 


about  Mount  McKinley,  where  good  hunting  grounds 
may  be  reached  by  railroad.  There  are  also  large  num- 
bers in  the  Endicott  Mountains,  north  of  the  Yukon,  where 
for  the  most  part  they  graze  far  above  the  timber  line. 

Some  attempts  are  now  being  made  to  domesticate  the 
mountain  sheep.  The  lambs  are  caught  and  raised  in 
captivity.  A farmer  near  Copper  Centre,  about  one 
hundred  miles  from  Valdez,  is  trying  to  cross  the  sheep 
with  some  he  has  imported  from  Montana  and  other 
Northern  States.  He  has  been  successful  with  some  of 
his  rams  and  has  bred  from  about  a half-dozen  mountain 
ewes.  The  cross  results  in  a large,  tame  animal  whose 
fleece  is  a combination  of  hair  and  wool.  The  wool  is 
thick  and  close  to  the  hide,  while  the  hair  extends  out 
beyond  it.  The  meat  is  said  to  be  superior  to  that  of  any 
except  the  wild  mountain  sheep  itself. 

Bears  are  to  be  found  almost  everywhere  in  Alaska. 
No  less  than  thirteen  different  varieties  are  recognized  by 
the  scientists.  There  are  four  general  types:  the  brown, 
the  grizzly,  the  black,  and  the  polar  bear.  With  the  ex- 
ception of  the  polar  bear,  the  brown  bears  are  the  biggest 
known.  The  largest  of  all  are  found  on  Kodiak  Island,  in 
the  Alaska  Peninsula,  and  about  Yakutat,  not  far  from 
Cordova.  I have  seen  brown  bear  skins  which  were  more 
than  ten  feet  long  and  six  feet  wide  with  fur  upon  them 
three  inches  thick.  I priced  one  in  a store  at  Juneau  and 
it  was  sixty-five  dollars.  At  Nome  all  furs  were  cheap. 
I bought  skins  there  of  two  baby  grizzlies  for  ten  dollars 
each,  and  sent  them  home  by  parcel  post.  They  weighed 
just  under  twenty  pounds,  and  it  cost  two  dollars  and  forty 
cents  to  have  them  landed  in  Washington.  Polar  bear 
skins  of  enormous  size  are  sold  at  Nome  for  sixty  and 

267 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


seventy  dollars,  only  a fraction  of  the  price  they  would 
bring  in  the  States. 

As  for  the  common  black  bear,  there  are  so  many  of 
them  about  the  mining  camps  that  they  often  break  into 
the  cabins  when  the  owners  are  away.  Every  camp  and 
village  along  the  Yukon  has  one  or  more  tame  bear  cubs 
which  will  eat  out  of  your  hand  and  go  through  tricks 
upon  order. 

The  polar  bears  of  Alaska  are  found  in  Bering  Sea  and 
along  the  Arctic  Ocean.  The  hunter  who  wishes  to  kill 
such  game  should  go  to  Nome  in  the  spring  and  travel 
over  the  icefields  northward  into  the  Arctic.  The  bears 
move  north  and  south  with  the  ice  drift.  They  come  as 
far  south  as  the  Seal  Islands  and  have  been  found  as  far 
north  as  latitude  79.  Their  food  is  chiefly  seals  and  fish. 
The  great  bears  lie  near  holes  in  the  ice  where  the  seals 
come  up  to  breathe  and  grab  them  when  their  noses  show 
on  the  surface. 

These  bears  are  perfectly  at  home  in  the  water,  and 
have  been  seen  swimming  in  the  Arctic  sixty  miles  from 
land  or  ice.  1 am  told  by  the  hunters  that  they  usually 
run  on  the  approach  of  a man,  but  that  they  will  attack 
one  when  they  are  hungry.  There  is  a story  told  here 
about  an  Eskimo  at  Point  Barrow  who  got  in  the  track 
of  a bear  which  was  running  from  a hunting  party.  The 
Eskimo,  who  was  shooting  ducks,  sent  a charge  of  shot 
into  the  bear,  who  turned  back,  knocked  the  Eskimo  down 
with  one  of  his  paws,  bit  off  the  top  of  the  man’s  head, 
and  resumed  his  flight. 

There  is  only  one  animal  in  the  polar  region  that  can 
successfully  fight  the  polar  bear.  That  is  the  great 
walrus,  which  often  weighs  more  than  a ton.  The  bears 

268 


It  is  estimated  that  there  are  still  several  million  caribou  on  the  barren 
lands  of  the  Far  North,  where  they  feed  on  reindeer  moss.  In  winter  great 
herds  go  south,  often  as  far  as  a thousand  miles  from  their  summer  homes. 


The  lynx  lives  in  deep  forests  and  bush  country,  where  it  preys  on  birds, 
rabbits,  and  other  small  animals.  It  is  trapped  for  its  soft,  thick,  pale  fur. 


OUR  NORTHERN  GAME  PRESERVE 


will  attack  the  baby  walrus,  but  they  are  afraid  of  the 
sharp  ivory  tusks  of  the  grown-ups,  which  are  sometimes 
two  feet  long.  A full-grown  walrus  has  been  seen  on  the 
body  of  a dead  whale,  keeping  away  a polar  bear  hungrily 
swimming  around  it. 

A striking  feature  of  Alaskan  game  is  the  provision  that 
Nature  has  made  for  their  protection.  Some  of  the  birds 
and  animals  change  their  colour  in  winter  so  that  they 
cannot  be  seen  against  the  snow.  The  ptarmigan,  for 
instance,  which  is  one  of  the  finest  grouse  of  Alaska,  has 
a summer  plumage  of  mottled  brown  while  its  winter 
coat  is  snow-white.  The  same  is  true  of  the  rabbits, 
which  are  gray  in  the  summer  but  snow-white  in  the 
winter.  The  rabbits  of  Southern  Alaska  are  twice  as 
large  as  those  of  our  Eastern  States,  although  not  so  large 
as  the  Arctic  hare.  They  are  sometimes  called  snowshoe 
rabbits,  because  their  feet  are  so  large  and  soft  that  the 
animals  can  go  over  the  snow  without  sinking. 

Rabbits  are  so  numerous  that  they  form  the  food  of 
many  wild  animals.  They  are  eaten  by  wolves,  dogs,  and 
bears,  and  even  by  the  mink  and  the  lynx.  The  eagles 
and  ravens  prey  upon  the  rabbits,  and  Indians  hunt 
them  in  companies,  driving  them  to  a centre  and  then 
shooting  them.  They  are  also  snared  or  shot  to  feed  the 
foxes  on  the  fox  farms.  I met  one  fur  farmer  who  had 
killed  twenty-seven  hundred  rabbits  in  one  year  as  food 
for  his  foxes. 

Notwithstanding  this,  the  animals  multiply  so  rapidly 
that  they  would  overrun  the  country  were  it  not  for  a 
plague  that  periodically  kills  them  by  thousands.  I have 
been  told  that  this  plague  comes  every  seven  years,  and 
that  it  is  usually  followed  by  an  increase  in  the  moose  and 

260 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


other  wild  game.  When  the  rabbits  are  plentiful  there 
are  but  few  moose,  and  when  rabbits  are  scarce  the  moose 
are  abundant.  This  may  be  from  the  fact  that  the 
rabbits  injure  the  pasturage  over  which  the  moose  feed  in 
the  same  way  that  sheep  will  destroy  it  for  other  live  stock. 
In  the  winter  the  rabbits  live  on  the  bark  of  the  willows, 
eating  it  down  as  the  snow  melts.  In  this  way  they  de- 
stroy great  thickets  by  girdling  the  trees. 


270 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 


THE  BIGGEST  THING  IN  ALASKA 

THE  biggest  thing  in  Alaska  is  the  government 
railroad.  By  that  I do  not  mean  so  much  its 
five  hundred  miles  of  tracks,  its  cars  and  equip- 
ment, or  the  number  of  tons  and  passengers  it 
will  haul,  but  what  it  stands  for  in  the  future  of  the  terri- 
tory. It  means  the  building  of  feeder  wagon  and  motor 
roads  and  the  construction  of  other  railroads.  It  means 
cheaper  coal,  lower  freight  rates,  lower  living  and  mining 
costs.  It  means  more  lands  and  resources  flung  open  to 
the  settler  and  the  prospector.  It  means  a new  era  of 
development  and  prosperity  for  Alaskans. 

The  act  providing  for  government  railroads  in  Alaska, 
passed  March  12,  1914,  authorized  the  building  and  opera- 
tion of  railroads  here  to  an  extent  not  to  exceed  one 
thousand  miles  and  at  a cost  of  not  more  than  thirty-five 
million  dollars.  On  this  authorization  President  Wilson 
bought  the  Alaska  Northern  Railway  and  decided  to  ex- 
tend it  to  Fairbanks,  a distance  of  four  hundred  and 
seventy-two  miles,  at  a cost  of  something  like  twenty- 
seven  million  dollars.  The  construction  of  the  road  was 
entrusted  to  the  Alaska  Engineering  Commission.  Sur- 
veys began  in  June,  1914,  and  dirt  began  to  fly  the  follow- 
ing May.  Steel  was  joined  all  the  way  from  Seward  to 
Fairbanks  in  the  early  spring  of  1922.  To-day  Pullman 
cars  and  diners  flash  through  wilderness  formerly  trav- 

271 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


ersed  only  by  dog  sleds.  Mail  now  gets  to  Fairbanks 
from  Seattle  in  nine  days  instead  of  from  one  to  three 
months.  Freight  reaches  its  destination  in  three  weeks’ 
less  time  than  formerly. 

The  original  appropriation  of  thirty-five  million  dollars 
would  doubtless  have  been  sufficient  except  for  the  war 
conditions  that  brought  higher  wages  and  material  costs. 
Later  appropriations  brought  up  the  total  for  getting 
the  line  into  full  operation  to  fifty-six  million  dollars,  or 
just  about  eight  times  what  we  paid  for  the  territory. 
Eleven  millions  of  the  money  provided  by  Congress  were 
used  in  building  wharves,  laying  out  townsites,  paving 
streets,  constructing  waterworks  and  sewerage  systems, 
and  developing  coal  mines  along  the  right  of  way. 

According  to  Colonel  Frederick  Mears,  chairman  of  the 
Engineering  Commission,  the  Alaska  railroad  has  cost 
about  eighty  thousand  dollars  a mile,  inclusive  of  rolling 
stock  and  terminals,  or  sixty-seven  thousand,  six  hundred 
per  mile  exclusive  of  same.  By  way  of  comparison,  in 
1918  the  property  investment  per  mile  on  railways  in  the 
United  States  was  something  over  eighty-three  thousand 
dollars. 

The  three  men  originally  appointed  on  the  Alaska  En- 
gineering Commission  were  W.  C.  Edes,  Frederick  Mears, 
and  Thomas  Riggs,  Jr.,  all  of  them  extremely  well  fitted 
for  their  work.  Just  previous  to  his  appointment,  Mr. 
Edes,  a Western  railroad  builder  with  thirty  years’  ex- 
perience, had  been  in  charge  of  construction  of  the  North- 
western Pacific  Railroad  out  of  San  Francisco.  Colonel 
Mears  had  been  in  railroad  work  for  ten  years  in  the 
West  and  in  Panama.  Mr.  Riggs,  later  Governor 
of  Alaska,  had  been  in  the  United  States  Geological 

272 


THE  BIGGEST  THING  IN  ALASKA 


Survey  and  immediately  before  his  appointment  was  in 
charge  of  the  Alaska  international  boundary  survey,  so 
that  he  was  entirely  familiar  with  the  territory. 

While  the  road  was  built  not  as  a revenue  getter,  but 
to  open  up  the  country,  in  the  opiaion  of  men  who 
have  studied  the  situation,  in  four  or  five  years  it  will  be 
on  a self-supporting  basis.  It  is  estimated  by  the  Com- 
mission that  ultimately  the  revenue  will  be  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  one  million  dollars  per  annum,  which  does 
not  include  any  estimate  for  coal  movements  from  the 
Matanuska  fields  to  tidewater  for  the  United  States  Navy. 

While  the  southern  terminus  of  the  line  is  at  Seward, 
the  beginning  of  the  old  Alaska  Northern  Railway, 
bought  by  Uncle  Sam,  new  construction  began  at  Anchor- 
age on  Ship  Creek,  which  became  headquarters  for  the 
Engineering  Commission.  Anchorage,  which  rose  amid 
the  stumps  of  the  trees  that  had  such  a little  while  ago  to 
be  cut  out  for  its  growth,  is  now  a thriving  railroad  town 
with  pretty  homes,  stores,  government  shops,  an  electric 
lighting  system,  sewerage  and  waterworks,  and  one  of  the 
finest  public  schools  in  all  Alaska.  The  school  library 
contains  more  than  a thousand  reference  books.  Though 
it  is  a mere  infant,  its  population  numbers  over  a thou- 
sand, and  it  is,  next  to  Juneau,  the  largest  town  in  the 
territory.  It  already  has  a lively  social  life,  with  its 
parties  and  dances,  motion-picture  theatres,  and  recrea- 
tion park.  There  are  many  fraternal  organizations  as 
well  as  a Farmers’  Association,  a Fair  Association,  and  an 
energetic  Woman’s  Club. 

I was  so  fortunate  as  to  see  Anchorage  in  the  stump, 
tent,  and  shack  stage,  though  it  was  growing  marvellously 
fast.  I give  you  my  notes  just  as  I penned  them  when  I 

273 


ALASKA — OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


was  on  the  spot,  seeing  how  Uncle  Sam’s  engineers  and 
executives  were  putting  through  their  big  job: 

I have  come  from  Sunrise,  the  little  mining  settlement 
on  Kenai  Peninsula,  to  Anchorage,  the  headquarters  of  the 
Alaskan  Engineering  Commission.  Anchorage  sprang 
into  being  when  the  President,  like  Aladdin,  rubbed  the 
rusty  old  lamp  of  Congress  and  wished  for  that  appropria- 
tion of  thirty-five  million  dollars  for  railroads  in  Alaska. 
The  town  is  the  nearest  port  to  the  Matanuska  coal  fields, 
and  when  navigation  in  Cook  Inlet  is  open,  which  is 
from  five  to  seven  months  of  the  year,  it  will  have,  per- 
haps, the  bulk  of  the  coal  trade.  It  is  for  this  reason  that 
the  people  here  expect  a big  city  at  Anchorage.  They 
look  forward  to  it  as  a smelting  and  manufacturing  centre 
as  well  as  a commercial  port,  and  are  already  talking  of  it 
as  the  financial  heart  of  Alaska. 

1 found  the  people  of  Seward  jealous  of  Anchorage. 
They  claim  that  their  port  will  be  the  only  real  city  at  the 
southern  end  of  the  railroad,  because  Resurrection  Bay 
is  free  of  ice  throughout  the  year.  All  steamers  going  to 
Anchorage  have  to  travel  several  hundred  miles  farther. 
They  must  come  up  Cook  Inlet,  the  great  bay  on  the  west 
of  the  peninsula  extending  about  two  hundred  miles  into 
the  land.  The  inlet  in  places  is  upward  of  fifty  miles 
wide,  but  it  narrows  at  the  northern  end,  and  is  only  a 
few  miles  across  in  Knik  Arm,  where  Anchorage  is  situated. 
The  lower  part  of  the  inlet,  owing  to  the  warm  Japanese 
current,  is  open  throughout  the  year.  The  upper  part 
freezes  along  in  October  or  November,  and  for  a great 
part  of  the  winter  ships  cannot  come  in.  The  place  is 
one  of  high  tides.  The  sea  rises  from  forty-five  to  sixty- 

274 


THE  BIGGEST  THING  IN  ALASKA 


five  feet  in  the  arms  of  the  inlet,  and  rushes  in  twice  a day 
in  a wall  forming  a bore  of  somewhat  the  same  nature  as 
those  in  the  Bay  of  Fundy  or  in  the  Hugli  River,  up  which 
one  goes  to  Calcutta. 

I had  some  experience  with  the  tide  in  coming  from 
Sunrise  to  Anchorage.  We  had  to  leave  Sunrise  when 
the  water  was  high,  which  was  not  until  midnight.  Our 
boat  was  a launch  about  eighteen  feet  long,  with  a twelve- 
horsepower  gasolene  engine.  There  were  bench  seats 
around  the  side  and  only  a canvas  for  cover.  The  owner 
of  the  boat  was  a German  storekeeper  of  Sunrise,  and  the 
engineer  was  his  son,  a boy  of  eighteen.  The  man  refused 
to  go  unless  he  got  at  least  $30,  but  we  managed  to  drum 
up  seven  passengers,  Mr.  George  Parks,  of  the  government 
land  office,  five  prospectors,  and  myself. 

It  took  us  about  eight  hours  to  go  the  hundred  miles, 
and  the  German  was  over  six  days  getting  back  home. 
We  went  out  of  Turnagain  Arm  to  Fire  Island,  and  after 
lying  there  for  an  hour  to  avoid  the  rough  water,  came  on 
through  Knik  Arm  to  Ship  Creek,  and  had  to  wait  several 
hours  more  before  the  tide  rose  so  that  we  could  land.  We 
might  have  taken  a dory  and  tramped  to  the  beach,  but 
the  mud  at  Anchorage  is  of  a blue  glacial  clay  as  sticky  as 
glue.  The  steamers  usually  anchor  some  distance  from 
shore  and  all  freight  is  landed  in  lighters.  The  govern- 
ment wharf  is  high  up  on  piles,  and  there  are  platforms  a 
little  below  the  floors  of  the  warehouses  upon  which  the 
lighters  are  anchored.  They  come  in  when  the  tide  is 
high,  and  as  it  falls  are  upheld  by  the  platforms  so  they 
can  be  unloaded  at  leisure. 

I like  the  way  our  engineers  are  handling  their  job. 
There  is  no  red  tape  here  at  Anchorage;  “fuss  and  feath- 

275 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


ers”  are  absent.  The  engineer  commissioners  are  as 
plain  as  pipe  stems,  tramping  along  with  the  men  and 
going  about  the  work  on  foot  or  on  horseback.  The  two- 
story  house  put  up  for  the  Commission  here  would  not 
rent  for  over  fifteen  dollars  a month  in  the  States.  Most 
of  the  clerks  do  their  work  in  tents  or  log  cabins.  The 
forestry  department  is  a two-room  shack  with  folding 
cots.  The  commissary  building  is  of  logs,  and  the  stables 
near  by,  where  from  fifty  to  one  hundred  horses  are 
lodged,  are  of  canvas.  The  hotel,  or  messroom,  for  the 
men  and  government  employees  is  a log  cabin  where 
three  meals  are  served  for  a dollar  a day.  I have  yet  to 
meet  an  official  who  puts  on  any  airs.  Most  of  them  go 
about  with  their  pants  in  their  boots,  and  the  clothes 
worn  by  the  three  commissioners  would  hardly  bring  the 
value  of  the  wool  in  them  at  a second-hand  store. 

The  railroad  men  receive  higher  wages  than  those  paid 
for  similar  work  in  the  States.  The  labourers  employed 
are  of  all  nationalities,  while  not  a few  are  Alaskans. 
The  engineers  tell  me  they  find  it  difficult  to  get  Americans 
to  do  the  rough  work.  They  all  want  to  be  foremen, 
bosses,  or  timekeepers.  They  are  willing  to  work  hard 
as  prospectors  and  miners,  but  they  do  not  like  to  handle 
the  pick  and  shovel  at  so  much  per  day.  The  Alaskans 
are  doing  much  of  the  clearing  and  have  taken  many  con- 
tracts for  ties. 

To-day  I went  over  the  part  of  the  roadbed  near  An- 
chorage. The  new  railway  looks  as  if  it  might  form  an 
exhibit  in  a national  exposition.  It  goes  through  the 
woods,  but  the  land  on  each  side  of  the  track  has  been 
cleared  and  ditches  drain  away  every  bit  of  the  water.  I 
have  never  seen  a better-looking  roadbed  anywhere.  It 

27  6 


The  first  section  of  the  Government  Railway  from  Seward  north  toward 
Anchorage  was  bought  ready  built  from  the  Alaska  Northern  Railway. 
Fifty  miles  from  Seward  it  loops-the-loop  for  four  miles  through  the 
mountains. 


In  the  mountains  where  the  heaviest  snows  occur  much  of  the  track  has 
been  roofed  over  with  enormous  sheds.  Most  of  the  line  is  in  a region  of 
only  moderate  snowfall,  and  all-year  operation  of  the  road  is  assured. 


THE  BIGGEST  THING  IN  ALASKA 


compares  favourably  In  appearance  with  that  of  the  Penn- 
sylvania or  the  New  York  Central. 

The  engineers  have  the  advantage  here  of  building 
along  hills  formed  of  gravel,  and  all  that  has  been  necessary 
to  get  material  for  the  fills  has  been  to  drive  cuts  into  the 
hills  at  the  side  of  the  track.  These  cuts  are  then  roofed 
over  and  the  cars  are  run  into  the  bank  and  loaded  by 
gravity.  I understand  that  this  is  the  character  of  much 
of  the  route  between  here  and  Fairbanks  and  that  a large 
part  of  the  track  will  be  easy  to  keep  in  repair. 

A great  deal  of  apprehension  has  been  felt  by  many 
who  do  not  understand  Alaskan  conditions  over  the  dif- 
ficulty of  keeping  the  road  open  in  winter.  The  Com- 
mission expects  to  have  comparatively  little  trouble  from 
the  cold  or  the  snowfall.  The  heaviest  snows  are  near 
the  coast,  and  snow  sheds  will  be  established  there  and  in 
the  region  about  Turnagain  Arm.  There  is  much  less 
snow  in  the  interior.  The  maximum  fall  at  the  summit 
of  the  main  mountain  range  is  only  about  seven  feet,  and 
this  can  easily  be  controlled  by  rotary  snow  ploughs  at- 
tached to  the  engines.  At  Anchorage  the  snow  seldom 
reaches  a depth  of  more  than  two  feet  and  the  deepest 
snowfall  is  not  over  three  feet. 

During  my  stay  at  Anchorage  I have  learned  about  the 
country  through  which  the  railroad  will  go  from  Mr. 
Thomas  Riggs,  Jr.,  who  has  personally  gone  again  and 
again  over  every  foot  of  the  ground.  He  tells  me  that 
most  of  the  region  has  not  yet  been  fully  prospected.  The 
land  is  covered  with  moss  and  other  vegetation  which  so 
hides  the  rocks  that  it  is  hard  to  tell  what  there  is.  It 
is  known,  however,  that  the  road  will  give  easy  access  to 
many  rich  gold  deposits,  and  it  is  certain  that  mining 

277 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


camps  will  spring  up  here  and  there  all  along  the  way  from 
Seward  to  Fairbanks.  There  is  quartz  gold  near  the  line 
of  the  Alaska  Northern,  and  there  are  quartz  and  placer 
mines  in  other  parts  of  the  Kenai  Peninsula. 

Forty  miles  north  of  Anchorage  is  Willow  Creek,  which 
has  a number  of  mines,  with  a ten-stamp  mill.  A little 
farther  north  is  the  Talkeetna  River,  where  there  is  good 
farming  land.  That  part  of  the  country  is  made  up  of 
plains  and  valleys  spotted  with  groves  and  covered  with 
grass.  A short  distance  to  the  west  of  it  are  the  Yentna 
and  Skwentna  mining  districts,  where  prospectors  are 
taking  out  placer  gold. 

One  of  the  most  promising  mining  districts  along  the 
new  railroad  is  near  Broad  Pass,  where  the  line  crosses  the 
mountains  at  an  altitude  of  twenty-four  hundred  feet 
above  the  sea.  The  pass  is  about  five  miles  in  width,  and 
there  are  mountains  on  each  side  of  it  eight  or  nine  thou- 
sand feet  high.  Off  to  the  west  can  be  seen  Mount 
McKinley,  sixty-five  miles  away,  and  on  the  east  are  the 
Cathedral  Mountains  and  Mount  Hayes,  which  is  almost 
as  high  as  Fujiyama  or  Pike’s  Peak. 

To  the  west  of  Broad  Pass  discoveries  of  low-grade 
quartz  gold  are  reported.  Farther  over  in  the  foothills  of 
Mount  McKinley  is  the  Kantishna  mining  district,  which 
has  gold,  antimony,  and  other  metals.  There  are  sixty- 
odd  miners  and  trappers  there  now,  and  some  of  them  are 
doing  quite  well. 

Farther  along  the  line  are  the  Nenana  coal  fields, and  then 
comes  the  Tolovana  gold  region,  not  far  from  the  route 
between  Nenana  and  Fairbanks.  But  most  important 
of  all  the  mining  regions  so  far  discovered  is  that  around 
Fairbanks  itself.  The  Tanana  Valley  Railroad,  a narrow- 

278 


Large  areas  of  Alaskan  waters  are  still  unsounded.  The  United  States 
revenue  cutters  are  equipped  with  modern  sounding  apparatus,  but  some- 
times a sailor  will  merely  be  swung  over  the  ship’s  side  to  “ heave  the  lead  ” 
and  plumb  the  depth. 


1 


Under  Father  William  Duncan,  the  Tsimpseans  attained  in  thirty 
years  a degree  of  civilization  that  it  has  taken  other  savages  centuries  to 
achieve.  When  he  started  his  mission  the  Indians  were  addicted  to  can- 
nibalism and  Father  Duncan’s  life  was  in  danger. 


THE  BIGGEST  THING  IN  ALASKA 


gauge  road  extending  for  forty  miles  north  from  Fairbanks 
into  the  placer-mining  district,  has  been  purchased  and  is 
a part  of  the  government  railway  system.  This  gives  this 
rich  mining  district  a direct  rail  connection  with  the  outside. 

The  Alaskan  mining  regions  will  profit  exceedingly  by 
the  cheap  fuel  that  will  come  over  the  railroad.  Those 
of  the  Kenai  Peninsula,  the  Matanuska  valley,  and  all 
south  of  Broad  Pass  now  have  cheap  coal  from  the  Chicka- 
loon  coal  fields,  whereas  those  on  the  northern  side  of 
the  pass  and  in  the  Tanana  valley  may  be  supplied  by  the 
great  coal  deposits  of  the  Nenana  region.  The  Chicka- 
loon  coal,  which  is  from  the  Matanuska  fields,  is  said  to  be 
equal  to  the  Pocahontas.  A branch  of  the  railroad  runs 
out  from  the  main  line  at  Matanuska  Junction  to  Chicka- 
loon.  The  Government  has  mined  and  tested  many 
hundred  tons  of  it  on  the  vessels  of  the  navy  and  it  is 
found  to  be  excellent.  It  can  be  used  for  cooking  and  it 
will  be  the  first  Alaskan  coal  of  commerce. 

The  Nenana  fields  are  of  vast  extent.  The  railroad 
passes  through  them,  and  it  is  down  grade  all  the  way 
from  there  to  Fairbanks.  The  coal  deposits  extend  from 
the  railroad  eastward  for  a distance  of  perhaps  one  hundred 
miles.  Outcroppings  can  be  seen  on  the  cliffs  and  in 
places  the  veins  are  forty  feet  thick.  The  coal  is  a high- 
grade  lignite  suitable  for  all  local  commercial  purposes. 
It  is  not  good  enough  to  bear  exportation,  but  it  will  be  of 
enormous  value  to  the  miners  in  the  interior. 

In  order  to  appreciate  what  this  coal  means  to  the 
mining  regions,  it  must  be  remembered  that  most  of  the 
gold  deposits  are  in  frozen  ground.  The  frost  and  ice  go 
down  to  bed  rock.  The  earth  has  been  frozen  for  ages,  and 
it  has  to  be  thawed  out  by  fire  or  steam.  A single  gold  mine 

279 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


would  often  consume  from  ten  to  twelve  cords  of  wood  a 
day,  and  before  the  railroad  could  bring  cheap  coal  nothing 
but  wood  could  be  used.  The  fact  that  wood  costing  over 
thirty  dollars  a cord  is  giving  way  as  mine  fuel  to  lignite 
coal  costing  six  dollars  a ton,  delivered,  will  result  in 
enormous  areas  of  low-grade  gold-bearing  regions  being 
worked.  It  means  the  opening  of  many  new  quartz 
properties,  and  a great  increase  in  the  valleys  and  benches 
where  the  gravel  can  be  washed  over  by  dredging  and 
hydraulic  sluicing. 

In  addition  to  the  cheap  coal  supplies  to  be  furnished 
by  the  government  railroad,  Southeastern  Alaska  is  much 
interested  in  the  twenty-two-mile  Alaska  Anthracite 
Railroad  from  a point  on  Controller  Bay  to  the  Bering 
River  field  where  there  is  coal  equal  to  the  Matanuska 
variety.  It  is  the  field  which  the  Guggenheims  were 
popularly  supposed  to  be  gobbling  when  the  great  excite- 
ment about  conservation  in  Alaska  began,  and  it  is,  to  a 
certain  extent,  accessible  to  Cordova  and  the  Copper 
River  Railroad. 

There  are  now  about  five  hundred  farms  in  the  Mata- 
nuska and  Susitna  valleys  not  far  from  Anchorage,  and 
there  are  many  new  homesteads  in  the  Tanana  valley. 
All  of  these  farms  are  being  operated  with  a view  to  sup- 
plying the  local  market  and  they  are  raising  considerable 
produce  but  by  no  means  enough  to  supply  the  demands. 
The  railroad  commission  is  trying  to  bring  about  a 
system  of  cooperation  between  the  merchants  and  the 
homesteaders  which  will  lead  to  less  importation  from  the 
outside  and  a greater  sale  for  local  products.  Many  of  the 
farms  are  springing  up  around  the  new  towns  being  laid 
out  at  every  possible  traffic  centre. 

280 


CHAPTER  XXXV 


MOUNT  MCKINLEY,  THE  “MOST  HIGH” 

MCKINLEY,  the  highest  mountain  on  the  North 
American  continent,  was  known  to  the  In- 
dians as  Denali,  the  “Most  High.”  It  was 
used  as  a landmark  in  their  journeys  and 
stories  of  it  form  a part  of  their  folk  lore.  Most  of  the 
world’s  great  peaks  rise  from  a high  plateau.  Mount 
McKinley,  with  its  snow-crowned  head  four  miles  aloft 
in  the  clouds,  towers  up  from  a low  tundra  shelf.  No 
other  mountain  known  rises  so  high  over  its  own  base. 
It  is  this  which  gives  it  such  an  effect  of  supreme  height 
and  grandeur. 

I have  seen  Mount  McKinley  from  the  hills  of  the 
Tanana  valley  near  Fairbanks.  It  is  visible  in  many 
parts  of  Alaska  and  as  more  and  more  tourists  visit  it  and 
Mount  McKinley  National  Park  it  will  become  as  well 
known  as  Fujiyama,  Mont  Blanc,  or  Pike’s  Peak.  It  will 
rank  as  one  of  the  scenic  wonders  of  the  world  and  the 
grandest  mountain  on  earth.  If  you  will  take  an  aero- 
plane and  shoot  straight  up  for  four  miles  you  will  be 
on  a level  with  its  summit;  and  when  you  stand  on  its 
slope  at  the  end  of  the  road,  where  the  automobile  will 
land  you  after  leaving  the  cars,  you  will  have  a mountain 
view  which  cannot  be  equalled  in  the  Alps,  the  Andes, 
or  the  Himalayas. 

I have  travelled  through  all  of  these  regions.  I have 

281 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


seen  most  of  the  greatest  mountains  of  the  world.  Take 
Aconcagua,  the  giant  of  the  Andes.  It  actually  is  a half 
mile  higher  above  the  sea  than  Mount  McKinley,  but  the 
best  views  of  it  are  to  be  had  only  when  you  are  a mile 
and  a half  or  two  miles  above  the  sea,  and  then  you  see 
it  over  other  peaks  which  dwarf  its  altitude.  One  of  the 
best  places  to  see  Mount  Everest  is  on  the  southern  slope 
of  the  Himalayas.  1 saw  it  from  Tiger  Hill,  not  far  from 
Darjiling,  where  I was  about  a mile  and  a half  above  the 
sea.  I started  out  in  the  darkness  and  waited  there  for 
sunrise.  The  air  was  clear  and  the  sun’s  rays  made  the 
mighty  peak  look  like  frosted  silver,  but  one  could  not 
realize  that  he  was  gazing  at  the  highest  known  point 
of  the  globe.  Mount  Everest  is  almost  six  miles  above 
the  sea,  but  my  view  was  cut  off  by  Kinchinjinga,  which 
is  only  one  thousand  feet  lower,  and  that  mountain  was 
dwarfed  by  the  other  giants  between. 

Each  of  these  wonder  mountains  has  its  own  features  of 
scenic  grandeur,  but  none  can  show  the  stupendous 
height  effect  of  Mount  McKinley.  The  north  side  of  the 
mountain  rises  almost  precipitously  and,  standing  on  the 
northern  foothills,  one  has  an  unobstructed  view  of  sev- 
enteen or  eighteen  thousand  feet  of  mountain  walls. 

1 can  give  you  a close  view  of  Mount  McKinley  only 
from  hearsay  and  from  the  magnificent  pictures  of  Bel- 
more  Browne,  the  noted  mountain  climber  of  the  Camp 
Fire  Club  of  America. 

Mr.  Browne  is  an  artist,  an  explorer,  and  the  author  of 
the  "Conquest  of  Mount  McKinley.”  He  has  attempted 
the  ascent  of  Mount  McKinley  both  from  the  south  and 
the  north,  and  at  one  time  he  succeeded  in  reaching  within 
a few  hundred  feet  of  the  top.  He  has  been  over  the  great 

282 


MOUNT  McKINLEY,  THE  “MOST  HIGH” 


part  of  the  region  which  has  been  inclosed  in  the  park, 
and  has  given  the  committees  of  Congress  a graphic 
representation  of  the  wonders  of  the  mountain  and  of  the 
great  droves  of  wild  game  to  be  found  on  the  slopes. 
I have  secured  some  of  my  best  impressions  of  the  park 
from  him. 

I have  also  talked  with  Charles  Sheldon  of  the  Boone 
and  Crockett  Club  of  New  York  about  his  experiences  on 
the  slope  of  Mount  McKinley.  He  is  another  of  the  great 
authorities  on  this  out-of-the-way  game  region.  He 
built  a cabin  on  the  mountainside  some  years  ago  and 
spent  a winter  or  so  there  studying  the  game  of  the 
country  and  collecting  specimens  for  the  U.  S.  Biological 
Survey. 

In  addition  to  these  two  men,  I have  met  in  Alaska 
members  of  every  party  connected  with  the  attempts  to 
climb  the  mountain — with  the  exception,  that  is,  of  those 
in  the  party  of  Dr.  Cook,  of  North  Polar  fame. 

The  great  mountain  was  known  to  the  Prussians  and 
was  mentioned  by  George  Vancouver,  the  navigator  after 
whom  Vancouver  Island  was  named.  He  came  into  Cook 
Inlet  and  reached  the  site  of  the  present  town  of  Anchor- 
age in  1 794.  His  records  describe  his  view  of  “stupendous 
snow  mountains  apparently  detached  from  each  other.” 
He  must  have  seen  Mount  McKinley,  Mount  Foraker, 
and  others. 

It  was  not  until  eleven  years  after  we  took  over  Alaska 
that  two  prospectors  named  Mayo  and  Harper  made  a 
trip  three  hundred  miles  up  the  Tanana  River  and  on  their 
return  mentioned  an  enormous  ice  mountain  they  had 
seen  in  the  south. 

In  1889  another  prospector  named  Densmore  gave  an 

283 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


enthusiastic  account  of  the  mountain,  but  it  was  not  until 
1896  that  W.  A.  Dickey,  a Princeton  graduate,  travelled 
through  the  Susitna  valley  and  made  an  extended  descrip- 
tion of  it.  Mr.  Dickey  named  it  after  President  McKinley, 
recording  that  name  in  a letter  published  in  the  New 
York  Sun  in  1897.  Dickey  estimated  its  height  as 
twenty  thousand  feet.  A little  later  George  Eldridge 
and  Robert  Muldrow  of  our  Geological  Survey  took  its 
height  by  triangulation  at  twenty  thousand  three  hundred 
feet,  the  generally  accepted  figure,  although  I have  seen 
estimates  which  make  it  two  or  three  hundred  feet  higher. 

Another  remarkable  survey  was  made  of  a part  of  the 
region  by  Dr.  Alfred  Brooks  and  D.  L.  Reyburn  in  1902. 
They  were  the  first  men  to  set  their  feet  upon  the  slopes  of 
Mount  McKinley.  1 have  talked  with  Doctor  Brooks 
about  his  experiences.  He  made  a reconnaissance  survey  of 
the  western  and  northwestern  face  and  was  the  first  to  lay 
out  a plan  for  attempting  an  ascent.  Doctor  Brooks  esti- 
mates the  height  of  Mount  McKinley  at  20,300  feet,  of 
Mount  Foraker  at  17,000  feet,  Mount  St.  Elias  at  18,024 
feet,  and  Mount  Logan  at  19,539  feet. 

And  now  as  to  the  ascent  of  this  giant  peak.  The 
first  man  to  attempt  it  was  James  Wickersham,  a former 
delegate  to  Congress  from  the  territory.  Judge  Wicker- 
sham has  told  me  how  he  caught  sight  of  it  from  far  up 
the  Yukon  when  he  first  came  to  Alaska,  and  determined 
to  do  what  he  could  to  reach  its  summit.  It  was  in  May, 
1903,  after  holding  his  first  term  of  court  at  Fairbanks/ 
that  he  set  out  with  four  men  and  two  mules.  He  went 
down  to  Tanana  in  a steamer  and  ascended  to  the  head 
of  navigation  on  the  Kantishna.  He  left  the  river  and 
struck  across  the  country  to  the  base  of  the  mountain, 

284 


McKinley,  the  loftiest  peak  on  the  North  American  continent,  was 
known  to  the  Indians  as  Denali,  the  “Most  High.”  With  its  snow- 
crowned  head  four  miles  aloft  in  the  clouds,  it  towers  above  a low  tundra 
shelf.  No  other  mountain  rises  so  far  above  its  own  base. 


The  first  real  ascent  of  Mt.  McKinley  was  not  made  until  1910,  when 
some  miners  climbed  the  north  peak.  Three  years  later  the  party  headed 
by  Archbishop  Stuck  reached  the  top  of  the  south  peak. 


mount  McKinley,  the  “most  high” 


but  he  tried  to  ascend  by  the  Peters  Glacier,  and  was 
stopped  by  the  enormous  ice-covered  cliffs  of  the  north 
peak.  He  came  back  saying  that  only  a balloon  could 
ever  take  one  to  the  top.  He  spent  a week  in  attempting 
the  climb,  and  it  was  only  when  his  provisions  gave  out 
that  he  returned  to  Fairbanks. 

The  next  attempt  was  made  by  Doctor  Cook,  who 
claimed  that  he  stood  on  the  peak,  and  gave  an  illustrated 
lecture  at  Washington,  telling  how  he  got  there.  This, 
like  his  North  Polar  expedition,  was  afterward  shown  up  as 
a fraud. 

The  first  real  ascent  of  Mount  McKinley  was  made  in 
February,  1910,  by  a party  of  mining  prospectors  backed 
by  three  saloon  keepers  of  Fairbanks.  The  prospectors 
were  Thomas  Lloyd,  Charles  McGonogill,  William  Taylor, 
and  Peter  Anderson.  One  of  the  saloon  keepers  was 
“Big  Bill  McPhee,’’  whom  I met  in  Fairbanks.  He 
and  the  two  others  each  put  up  five  hundred  dollars  for 
the  journey,  which  sum  sufficed  for  the  needs  of  the 
party.  I had  a talk  in  the  Tanana  Club  at  Fairbanks 
with  Tom  Lloyd,  who  headed  the  party,  and  also  with 
Taylor  and  Anderson,  with  whom  1 travelled  on  the 
Tanana  River  from  Nenana  to  Chena. 

The  men  got  to  the  foothills  about  the  first  of  March, 
1910.  Lloyd,  who  had  been  hunting  mountain  sheep  in 
the  region,  led  the  party  up  the  slope  by  easy  passes  and 
made  his  way  over  the  great  Muldrow  Glacier.  It  took 
them  about  twenty-five  days  to  get  to  the  head  of  the 
glacier  with  their  dogs  and  supplies,  and  it  was  on  the 
tenth  of  April  that  Taylor,  Anderson,  and  McGonogill 
made  the  final  part  of  the  ascent,  crawling  over  the  ice  by 
means  of  irons  strapped  to  their  moccasins  and  with 

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ALASKA — OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


hooked  poles  in  their  hands.  They  did  not  tie  themselves 
together  with  ropes,  and  there  was  no  cutting  of  steps. 
It  was  every  man  for  himself,  and  they  gradually  climbed 
the  ice  of  the  north  peak  of  the  mountain,  carrying  a four- 
teen-foot flagstaff  with  them.  They  planted  this  on  the 
peak  where  it  stands  to  this  day. 

The  top  of  the  mountain  is  somewhat  like  a horseshoe. 
It  is  an  extinct  volcano  and  the  south  point  is  perhaps 
three  hundred  feet  higher  than  the  north  point.  Tom 
Lloyd,  Pete  Anderson,  Billy  Taylor,  and  Charlie  Mc- 
Gonogill  could  easily  have  gone  over  and  climbed  the 
south  peak,  but  they  wanted  their  flag  where  they  mis- 
takenly believed  it  would  be  seen  by  telescope  at  Fair- 
banks, one  hundred  and  fifty  miles  away. 

The  honour  of  the  highest  ascent  goes  to  the  party 
headed  by  Archdeacon  Stuck,  who  with  Harry  Karstens, 
the  Alaska  scout  and  guide,  reached  the  top  of  the  south 
peak  in  1913.  Belmore  Browne  had  come  within  about 
one  hundred  feet  of  it  the  year  before  that,  but  an  earth- 
quake, which  had  shaken  down  the  great  ice  masses,  and 
the  blizzard  which  came  up  at  that  altitude  prevented  his 
getting  to  the  summit. 

As  to  the  feat  of  Harry  Karstens  and  Archdeacon  Stuck, 
I got  the  story  of  it  from  Harry  Karstens  as  we  sat  and 
chatted  together  in  Big  Bill  McPhee’s  store  at  Fairbanks. 
Harry  Karstens  is  a young  trapper  and  hunter  famous  for 
his  nerve  on  the  trail.  He  is  a noted  guide  and  takes  out 
rich  hunters  when  they  come  to  the  Yukon.  He  brought 
the  first  mail  into  Fairbanks  and  took  the  first  letters  into 
the  Kantishna.  He  made  the  trip  up  the  mountain  in 
partnership  with  the  archdeacon,  the  latter  furnishing  one 
thousand  dollars  for  the  expenses  against  Karstens* 

286 


mount  McKinley,  the  “most  high” 


experience,  the  understanding  being  that  the  two  were  to 
divide  the  proceeds  from  Archdeacon  Stuck’s  book  and 
lecture  describing  the  ascent.  The  men  were  fifty-two 
days  on  the  way,  of  which  fifty  days  were  spent  going  up 
and  only  two  coming  down.  You  can  get  a graphic 
description  of  the  journey  by  reading  Archdeacon  Stuck’s 
book  entitled  “The  Ascent  of  Mount  Denali.” 

Mount  McKinley  dominates  the  greatest  of  the  Govern- 
ment’s reserves,  Mount  McKinley  National  Park.  This 
park  has  an  area  of  over  twenty-five  hundred  square 
miles,  or  more  than  twice  that  of  Rhode  Island.  There 
are  rich  grass  valleys;  there  are  beautiful  woods  of  spruce, 
cottonwood,  and  birch;  there  are  waterfalls  and  rushing 
streams.  Mighty  glaciers  sweep  down  the  mountain 
sides.  Muldrow  Glacier  is  thirty-five  miles  long.  The 
largest  glacier  of  the  Swiss  Alps  is  only  sixteen  miles  in 
length.  Here  and  there  great  lava-flows  from  the  old 
volcanoes  make  patches  of  vivid  brown  and  green  and 
purple  and  red. 

Wild  animals  throng  the  whole  area  and,  now  that  they 
are  protected  by  the  Government,  will  make  the  park 
the  largest  and  best-populated  game  preserve  of  this 
continent.  The  only  place  I know  that  at  all  compares 
with  it  is  the  strip  two  miles  wide  running  from  Mombasa, 
on  the  east  coast  of  Africa,  to  Lake  Victoria,  six  hundred 
miles  inland.  That  strip,  a mile  wide  on  each  side  of  the 
railroad,  fairly  swarms  with  zebra  and  antelope  of  various 
kinds. 

It  will  be  the  same  in  the  Mount  McKinley  Park. 
That  region  has  thousands  of  caribou,  or  American 
reindeer.  Belmore  Browne  saw  one  hundred  and  twenty- 
five  in  one  herd,  and  they  sometimes  move  back  and 

287 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


forth  over  the  park  in  droves  of  thousands.  Charles 
Sheldon  tells  me  that  he  counted  five  hundred  mountain 
sheep  in  one  day.  The  park  is  also  the  haunt  of  the  bear 
and  the  beaver.  It  has  moose  in  the  low  timber  and 
bushes  along  the  streams  and  there  are  foxes,  rabbits,  and 
lynx,  and  the  many  varieties  of  birds  found  in  Alaska. 
It  will  be  the  most  interesting  place  for  the  study  of 
natural  history.  Protected  by  law,  most  of  the  animals 
will  become  so  tame  that  they  will  not  run  at  the  approach 
of  tourists,  and  will  be  preserved  for  all  time  among  the 
wonders  of  our  fauna. 

Heretofore  this  region  has  been  practically  inaccessible 
to  the  ordinary  traveller,  but  the  railroad  will  make  the 
region  almost  as  easy  to  reach  as  any  of  our  national  parks. 
At  one  place  the  trains  pass  within  fifteen  miles  of  the 
park.  Moreover,  the  foothills  of  the  northern  slope  of  the 
mountains  are  such  that  roadways  can  be  easily  made  up 
one  little  valley  after  another  so  that  tourists  may  go  by 
wagons  or  automobiles  right  to  the  foot  of  the  mountain. 


288 


The  bridge  at  Hurricane  Gulch,  284  miles  up  the  line  from  Seward,  is 
over  900  feet  long  and  300  feet  above  the  stream  below,  and  an  important 
link  in  the  transportation  chain  which  will  reduce  living  and  mining  costs 
in  Alaska. 


Down  to  Cordova,  the  “copper  gateway  of  Alaska,”  come  the  trainloads 
of  ore.  Sometimes  a single  vessel  leaving  this  port  will  have  an  ore  cargo 
worth  nearly  $1,000,000. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 


THE  STORY  OF  KENNECOTT 

CORDOVA,  two  hundred  miles  across  Prince 
William  Sound  from  Seward,  is  the  copper 
centre  of  Alaska.  The  ore  coming  down  to 
the  port  is  from  only  two  or  three  mines,  but 
they  represent  one  of  the  most  extensive  and  richest  of  the 
copper  areas  of  the  world.  More  than  four  hundred 
copper  locations  have  already  been  made,  and  the  ore  belt 
is  known  to  be  over  seventy  miles  long  and  twenty 
miles  wide.  These  deposits  are  so  rich  that  Alaska 
may  become  as  noted  for  its  copper  as  it  has  been  for 
gold. 

The  first  trainload  of  ore  that  came  down  to  Cordova 
contained  metal  to  the  value  of  more  than  a half  million 
dollars,  and  that  now  on  the  wharves  is  worth  from  twelve 
to  fifteen  thousand  dollars  a carload.  The  ore  is  brought 
down  from  the  Kennecott  mines  in  sacks,  each  containing 
from  one  hundred  and  fifty  to  two  hundred  pounds  of  ore 
carrying  twenty-eight  dollars’  worth  of  copper. 

The  ore  of  the  Kennecott  mines  is  so  rich  in  copper  that 
it  can  be  dug  from  the  earth,  turned  into  metal,  and  put 
on  the  market  at  a cost  of  a few  cents  a pound.  The 
average  ores  they  are  now  taking  out  are  over  twenty 
per  cent,  copper,  and  a large  part  of  them  carry  as  much 
as  seventy-two  percent.  In  comparison,  the  copper  ores 
of  Arizona  yield  about  five  per  cent.,  those  of  Montana 

289 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


about  three,  and  those  of  Michigan  less  than  one  per  cent. 
Do  you  wonder  that  the  Kennecott  mines  pay? 

The  native  metal  was  used  by  the  Copper  River 
Indians  before  white  men  entered  the  territory.  Old 
spear-  and  arrow-heads  of  it  have  been  found  in  the  sluice 
boxes  of  the  miners,  and  ceremonial  knives  of  copper  are 
even  now  employed  by  the  natives  in  cutting  the  salmon 
taken  at  the  beginning  of  the  catch. 

Long  before  the  Russians  sold  Alaska  to  us,  they 
had  discovered  that  copper  existed  there.  They  had 
nuggets  and  small  household  utensils  of  beaten  cop- 
per. They  found  no  large  deposits,  however,  and  it  was 
not  until  a generation  after  we  had  taken  possession  that 
prospectors,  on  their  way  from  Prince  William  Sound  to 
the  Klondike,  learned  about  the  Copper  River  region.  In 
the  same  year  the  United  States  Geological  Survey  re- 
ported a similar  copper  belt  on  the  northern  slope  of  the 
Wrangell  Mountains,  about  two  hundred  miles  south  of 
Fairbanks. 

The  most  important  discovery  was  that  of  the  Ken- 
necott mines,  which  were  developed  by  the  Morgan- 
Guggenheim  syndicate.  These  deposits  were  discovered  in 
1900  by  two  miners  prospecting  near  here,  and  a little 
later  the  property  was  investigated  by  Mr.  Stephen  A. 
Birch,  a young  mining  engineer,  who  brought  it  to  the 
attention  of  the  capitalists  and  organized  the  projects 
which  have  made  it  one  of  the  greatest  copper  mines  of 
the  world. 

It  was  through  a talk  with  Mr.  Birch  that  I learned  the 
story  of  the  discovery.  Said  he: 

“It  began  with  the  mining  excitement  that  followed 
the  rush  to  the  Klondike.  Among  the  prospectors  then 

290 


THE  STORY  OF  KENNECOTT 


moving  about  here  and  there  over  Alaska  were  eleven 
working  under  a partnership  agreement.  These  men  went 
in  pairs,  first  drawing  lots  to  see  which  section  of  the 
country  they  should  take.  The  district  of  the  upper 
Chitina  River  was  drawn  by  Clarence  Warner  and  Jack 
Smith,  who  had  tramped  so  extensively  over  the  moun- 
tains of  Arizona  that  he  was  known  as  the  ‘Arizona 
Centipede.’ 

“Toward  the  end  of  the  summer  of  1900  Warner  and 
Smith  had  gone  carefully  over  the  section  allotted  to 
them  but  had  found  nothing  and  were  about  to  leave  in 
despair.  Their  grub  was  fast  diminishing,  and  when  they 
came  to  the  Kennecott  River  they  decided  to  end  their 
work  by  prospecting  the  land  between  Kennecott  Glacier 
and  Nikolas  Creek  and,  if  nothing  was  found,  to  give  up 
for  the  year.  They  had  gone  only  three  miles  when 
Warner  sprained  his  ankle  on  one  of  the  rocks,  and  the 
two  sat  down  by  a stream  to  rest.  While  eating  their 
lunch,  Smith  called  Warner’s  attention  to  a large  green 
patch  in  the  rocks  on  the  side  of  the  mountain.  He  said 
it  looked  strange  and  that  they  ought  to  go  up  and  see  just 
what  it  was.  Warner  replied  that  Smith  might  go  if  he 
would,  but  he  didn’t  intend  to  climb  that  far  to  look  at  a 
sheep  pasture.  He  thought  the  green  patch  was  grass 
and  that  it  was  one  of  the  feeding  grounds  of  the  mountain 
sheep  found  on  the  hills  of  this  part  of  Alaska. 

“Discouraged  by  Warner’s  objection,  Smith  was  about 
to  give  up  when  he  saw  in  the  bed  of  the  stream  a piece  of 
float  or  chip  of  mineral-bearing  rock.  He  picked  it  up 
and  he  and  Warner  studied  it  together.  They  broke  it 
in  two.  As  the  fracture  had  a silvery  look  they  thought 
it  was  silver.  They  found  more  of  the  float  in  the 

291 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


creek,  the  pieces  increasing  in  number  as  they  walked  up 
the  stream  and  gradually  leading  them  to  the  spot  they 
had  thought  a sheep  pasture.  Then  they  saw  that  the 
outcropping  was  copper  from  what  proved  to  be  the 
richest  copper  mine  ever  discovered. 

"Now  the  first  thing  a prospector  does  after  making  a 
strike  is  to  select  a name  for  his  find,”  continued  Mr. 
Birch.  “The  question  was  what  they  should  call  the 
new  mine.  Old  Jack  Smith,  who  was  ahead  of  Warner 
and  first  saw  the  possibilities,  turned  to  his  partner  and 
said:  ‘By  God,  Warner,  she’s  a bonanza.’  To  which 
Warner  replied:  ‘Well,  Jack  that’s  a good  name  for  her. 
We’ll  call  her  ‘The  Bonanza  Mine.’ 

"And  a bonanza  it  has  proved  to  be.  After  only  four 
and  one  half  years’  operation  it  yielded  over  eight  million 
dollars  in  dividends,  and  then  began  earning  at  the  rate 
of  more  than  six  millions  per  annum.  So  far  no  one 
knows  the  actual  extent  of  the  deposit,  and  it  is  safe  to 
say  that  it  will  be  paying  dividends  for  generations  to 
come.” 

When  the  prospectors  returned  to  the  rest  of  their  party 
at  Valdez,  Mr.  Birch  was  there  on  behalf  of  himself  and 
certain  capitalists  of  New  York  City,  looking  for  promis- 
ing mining  investments.  The  prospectors  told  him  about 
their  discovery  and  showed  him  the  specimens  of  ore,  and 
he  agreed  to  make  an  examination  the  following  spring  if 
they  would  give  him  an  option  upon  it. 

The  next  season  Birch  returned  to  Alaska  and  found 
the  deposit  all  and  more  than  had  been  claimed.  He 
then  secured  a new  option,  agreeing  to  pay  one  hundred 
thousand  dollars  to  each  of  the  eleven  members  of  the 
party.  To  make  this  option  perfectly  valid,  he  had  to 

292 


The  wise  explorer  anchors  his  tent  and  belongings  securely  to  supple 
trees  so  that  they  may  not  be  blown  away,  while  his  dogs  tuck  their  noses 
into  their  long  bushy  tails  and  keep  warm. 


A prospector’s  sprained  ankle  led  to  the  discovery  of  the  copper  deposits 
which,  as  the  Bonanza  mines,  paid  dividends  of  six  million  dollars  in  a single 
year.  The  ores  here  are  the  richest  known. 


THE  STORY  OF  KENNECOTT 


secure  the  signatures  of  the  eleven  prospectors  and  all  who 
were  interested  with  them.  Some  of  the  men  had  been 
grub-staked  by  others,  so  that  the  money  had  to  be  di- 
vided among  thirty-two  claimants,  each  of  whom  had  to 
agree  to  the  deal.  The  establishment  of  the  titles  in- 
volved several  lawsuits,  one  of  which  was  carried  to  the 
Supreme  Court  of  the  United  States,  and  it  was  five  years 
before  the  Alaska  Syndicate  was  able  to  begin  actual  de- 
velopment work. 

Although  this  syndicate  had  to  put  approximately 
twenty-five  million  dollars  into  the  property,  including  the 
expense  of  building  the  Copper  River  Railway,  there 
is  no  doubt  that  they  have  got  back  the  worth  of 
their  money.  They  have  already  received  more  than 
the  purchase  price  in  dividends,  and  the  market  value  of 
the  property  is  several  times  what  it  cost. 

Further  on  in  our  conversation  Mr.  Birch  spoke  of  the 
copper  deposits  on  the  Island  of  Latouche,  in  Prince 
William  Sound.  That  island  has  rich  copper  lodes,  but 
the  ore  is  of  an  entirely  different  character  from  that  of 
the  Bonanza  and  the  Jumbo  near  by.  The  Latouche  mines 
are  low-grade  producers.  Their  ore  is  a chalcopyrite 
which  averages  about  three  per  cent  copper.  It  is  quarried 
from  the  hillsides  overlooking  the  water,  and  is  treated  by 
the  flotation  process. 

The  story  of  the  discovery  of  the  Latouche  copper 
mine,  which  was  told  me  by  an  old  prospector  at  Seward, 
is  quite  as  interesting  as  that  of  the  Bonanza.  The  La- 
touche mine  was  the  result  of  a mess  of  bad  clams.  A 
number  of  miners  were  sailing  along  the  shores  of  Latouche 
Island  when  they  stopped  at  a clam  bed  and  dug  up  enough 
for  a meal.  They  cooked  the  clams,  but  before  eating 

293 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


them  found  that  they  were  deadly  poisonous  on  account 
of  the  copperas  in  them.  One  of  the  men  suggested  that 
the  copperas  must  come  from  copper  deposits  near  by, 
and  that  they  had  better  stop  and  prospect  the  rocks. 
The  outcome  was  the  discovery  of  these  great  deposits 
of  low-grade  copper  ore  almost  on  the  edge  of  the  sea. 
The  miners  decided  to  develop  the  property  for  them- 
selves, but  the  ore  contained  such  a small  percentage  of 
metal  that  they  could  not  make  it  pay.  They  kept  on 
mining,  however,  with  the  idea  that  the  deposits  were  so 
large  that  they  ought  to  sell  the  property  at  a big  price. 

Finally,  one  of  them  named  Beatson  announced  that 
he  was  disgusted  and  was  going  outside  for  the  winter. 
He  took  some  of  the  ore  with  him  and  went  to  New  York, 
where  he  induced  a rich  relative  to  advance  him  thirty 
thousand  dollars  to  purchase  the  property,  with  the  un- 
derstanding that  Beatson  was  to  retain  his  own  share. 

Beatson  then  came  back  to  Latouche,  but  before  he 
did  so,  he  changed  his  money  into  thirty  yellow  bank- 
notes of  one  thousand  dollars  each,  which  he  sewed  inside 
the  lining  of  his  mackinaw.  When  he  came  to  the  mine 
it  was  with  a sad  face.  He  said  that  capital  was  tight  and 
the  public  not  prone  to  invest.  He  kept  on  preaching 
hard  times  and  at  last  cast  such  a gloom  over  the  camp 
that  the  others  of  the  party  decided  to  sell  if  they  could 
get  any  kind  of  a price  for  the  mine.  They  were  in  this 
mood  when  Beatson  asked  them  to  name  a price,  and  they 
finally  agreed  on  a few  thousand  dollars.  Before  showing 
his  money  Beatson  asked:  “Are  you  sure  you  would 
take  that  price  if  I could  find  the  money?”  When  the 
other  miners  replied  in  the  affirmative,  he  asked  them  to 
put  their  offer  in  writing.  Thinking  he  was  bluffing,  they 

294 


THE  STORY  OF  KENNECOTT 


did  so.  He  thereupon  ripped  open  his  coat  and  handed 
out  the  sum  in  one-thousand-dollar  banknotes.  The 
yellow  bills  looked  so  good  that  the  men  took  them  and 
the  mine  became  his. 

Beatson  then  began  to  develop  the  property  and  finally 
sold  it  to  the  Alaska  Syndicate,  which  is  now  operating  it 
at  a profit.  I have  not  learned  the  price  but  am  told  that 
it  was  high  enough  to  drop  Mr.  Beatson  into  “Easy 
Street”  for  the  rest  of  his  life. 

Copper  mining  requires  capital,  so  that  it  has  not  at- 
tracted the  small  prospector  as  gold  has  done.  Though  it 
is  said  that  a billion  dollars’  worth  of  copper  is  in  sight  in 
Alaska,  and  though  one  nugget  weighing  three  tons  has 
been  found,  so  far  mining  costs  have  been  so  high  that 
only  ore  with  a large  copper  content  will  make  the  work 
pay.  The  ore  has  to  be  shipped  to  the  States  to  be 
smelted,  which  means  much  re-handling  besides  the  long 
and  expensive  haul.  There  is  plenty  of  coal  suitable  for 
the  smelters  close  to  the  copper  regions.  The  Bering 
River  fields  lie  a little  east  of  Cordova  near  Controller 
Bay,  which  is  now  reached  by  the  Alaska  Anthracite 
Railroad.  As  soon  as  these  fields  are  developed  and  cheap 
coal  is  available  smelters  will  undoubtedly  be  built  and 
operated  close  to  the  copper  mines. 


295 


CHAPTER  XXXVII 


ON  THE  COPPER  RIVER  RAILWAY 

SO  FAR  as  I know,  the  Copper  River  and  North- 
western Railway  is  the  only  line  in  the  world 
| that  takes  its  passengers  right  to  the  foot  of 
magnificent  glaciers  and  allows  them  to  ex- 
amine these  greatest  wonders  of  Nature  while  the  train 
waits.  Within  an  hour  of  the  arrival  of  our  steamer  at 
Cordova  an  excursion  train  started  out  from  the  wharf, 
and  the  tourists  on  board  were  carried  a distance  of  about 
fifty  miles  up  the  Copper  River  Valley  to  the  Miles 
and  Childs  glaciers,  two  mighty  streams  of  ice  that 
stand  almost  facing  each  other  on  opposite  sides  of  the 
track. 

Leaving  Cordova,  the  road  winds  around  the  hills  high 
over  the  water,  hanging  to  rocky  cliffs  covered  with  dense 
vegetation.  A little  later  it  enters  the  mouth  of  the 
Copper  River  valley  and  skirts  Eyak  Lake,  which  fills  a 
star-shaped  depression  scooped  out  by  some  ancient 
glacier.  The  lake  is  almost  entirely  shut  in  by  high 
wooded  mountains  rising  abruptly  from  the  water’s  edge. 
After  following  the  winding  shores  of  this  lake  for  four 
miles,  the  line  crosses  the  Eyak  River,  which  carries  the 
glacial  waters  of  the  lake  out  to  the  sea.  It  is  by  this 
river  that  the  boats  from  Cordova  go  into  and  out  from 
the  lake,  and  during  the  summer  months  the  stream  is 
gay  with  canoes,  rowboats,  and  power  craft  of  every  de- 

296 


ON  THE  COPPER  RIVER  RAILWAY 


scription.  The  lake  teems  with  fish  and  it  has  excellent 
trout.  During  the  winter  it  is  sometimes  frozen  over  and 
is  used  for  skating  and  sleighing.  There  is  some  fishing 
done  then  through  holes  in  the  ice. 

Leaving  the  lake  we  passed  through  a forest  of  spruce, 
and  wound  our  way  over  the  Copper  River  Delta,  crossing 
stream  after  stream  from  the  great  glaciers  of  the  interior. 
The  flats  extend  for  sixteen  miles  east  and  west,  a wide 
expanse  of  green  level  land,  half  swamps,  with  water 
here  and  there  showing  out  of  the  green.  Flocks  of 
ducks  and  geese  rose  from  these  ponds  as  our  train 
passed.  We  could  often  see  walls  of  green  ice  from  our 
train.  The  glaciers  reached  the  clouds  that  dark, 
rainy  day*.  The  ice  seemed  to  be  looking  at  us  over  the 
trees. 

We  saw  the  graves  of  some  miners  who  had  tried  in  vain 
to  get  through  to  the  Klondike  by  this  route  in  the  gold 
rush  of  1898.  A little  farther  on  we  crossed  Long  Island, 
and  at  Mile  Thirty-four  came  to  the  bridge  over  Hot  Cake 
Channel,  so  called  because  a party  of  engineers  were  shut 
up  there  during  the  railway  construction  and  for  weeks 
had  nothing  to  eat  but  hot  cakes. 

All  the  way  to  the  foot  of  the  mountains  the  engineers 
had  to  wade  through  the  mud  to  lay  out  the  route,  and  it 
was  hard  to  find  a solid  roadbed.  At  Mile  Twenty-nine 
we  were  only  thirty-two  miles  from  the  Bering  River  coal 
field,  and  twenty  miles  farther  on  came  to  the  narrow 
passage  between  the  Miles  and  Childs  glaciers.  Here  the 
road  crosses  the  Miles  Glacier  bridge  which  cost  more 
than  a million  and  a half  to  build,  and  then  goes  on  its  way 
up  the  mountains. 

There  are  a number  of  smaller  glaciers  visible  from  the 

297 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


train,  but  those  we  came  to  see  are  the  Miles  and  the 
Childs,  the  two  mightiest  ones  in  all  the  valley.  Childs 
Glacier  is  within  a quarter  of  a mile  or  so  of  the  track,  and 
Miles  Glacier  is  in  plain  sight  as  you  sit  in  the  cars  facing 
the  bridge.  Of  these  two  the  Miles  is  by  far  the  larger. 
It  begins  in  the  snowfields  of  the  mountains  and 
it  is  probably  fifty  miles  long.  Where  it  enters  the 
Copper  River  valley  it  spreads  out  in  a great  bulb, 
which  at  the  end  is  six  and  one  half  miles  across.  It 
is  about  twelve  and  one  half  miles  around  the  whole 
front. 

Our  train  stopped  on  a switch  near  the  bridge,  in  plain 
sight  of  both  glaciers,  and  we  had  an  hour  or  so  to  look 
about.  We  left  our  cars  and  made  our  way  to  the  termi- 
nal moraine  of  the  glacier,  which  is  made  up  of  rocks  of  all 
sizes. 

The  vegetation  had  now  disappeared  and  we  stood  on 
the  bank  of  a river  with  glacial  waters  that  looked  like 
skim  milk.  We  were  right  under  a mighty  ice  wall  that 
ascended  straight  up  from  the  water  to  a greater  height 
than  that  of  the  dome  of  our  Capitol  at  Washington. 
This  wall  is  washed  by  the  river.  It  extends  along  the 
banks  of  the  stream  for  a length  of  four  miles  and  runs 
back  for  more  than  ten  miles  up  the  valley.  It  is  com- 
posed of  broken  and  uneven  cliffs  of  pale  green  ice  from 
which  huge  masses  are  continually  falling. 

We  could  see  and  hear  the  ice  blocks  breaking  off  as  we 
stood  under  the  wall  on  the  opposite  bank  of  the  milky 
river.  First  came  a cracking,  which  sounded  like 
a battery  of  heavy  artillery.  Then  a mass  of  pure  white, 
weighing  thousands  of  tons,  broke  loose  from  the  glacier, 
seemed  to  hang  in  mid  air  for  an  instant,  then  plunged 

298 


ON  THE  COPPER  RIVER  RAILWAY 


down  into  the  stream  with  a thunderous  roar,  sending  up 
a high  cloud  of  spray.  A moment  later  the  mist  had 
cleared  away,  and  the  ice  block  could  be  seen  rising  and 
falling,  sending  waves  almost  to  our  feet. 

The  breaking  of  the  ice  is  caused  by  melting  and  also  by 
pressure  from  the  great  ice  river  as  it  flows  slowly  down 
from  the  heights.  The  movement  of  the  glacier  varies  in 
speed  from  time  to  time.  During  the  years  1906,  1907, 
and  1908  it  came  forward  only  two  or  three  feet  a day, 
but  in  1909  its  motion  increased  to  five  or  six  feet,  and  in 
August,  1910,  it  was  advancing  at  the  rate  of  thirty  or  forty 
feet  daily.  After  that  it  began  to  slow  up,  and  in  June, 
191 1,  it  was  moving  less  than  two  feet  per  day.  Scientists 
made  careful  observations  and  photographs  of  the  Childs 
Glacier  at  the  time  of  its  greatest  activity.  They  would 
come  out  in  the  morning  to  find  tons  of  ice  resting  where 
their  cameras  had  stood  the  day  previous  and  to  see  a 
great  tree  perhaps  a hundred  years  old  prone  on  the 
ground  with  its  butt  beneath  the  glacier.  The  night  be- 
fore the  same  tree  had  been  upright  and  the  ice  some  dis- 
tance away.  In  this  movement  the  ice  acted  like  so  many 
ploughs,  ripping  up  the  earth  to  bed  rock,  and  piling  up  the 
turf  and  bushes  ten  or  fifteen  feet  higher  than  the  level 
of  the  plain. 

In  view  of  what  the  engineers  did  in  constructing  this 
line,  it  would  seem  no  idle  boast  to  say  they  could 
even  fight  off  the  advance  of  a glacier.  The  route  lay 
through  one  of  the  ruggedest  mountain  regions  of  the 
continent,  with  glaciers,  glacial  streams,  rapids,  and  can- 
yons to  be  conquered.  In  the  delta  flats  there  was  hardly 
any  ground  fit  for  construction  camps  and  the  only  fuel 
was  green  alders  and  willows.  Sometimes  it  took  six 

299 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


months  to  get  material  up  the  river  from  Cordova  to  the 
glacial  region.  Sometimes  as  the  surveying  parties  got 
farther  inland  they  worked  with  the  thermometer  at 
fifty  below  zero. 

In  summer  much  construction  material  had  to  be 
towed  up  the  river  by  men  pushing  their  way  through  the 
cottonwood  thickets,  while  others  waded  in  the  stream  to 
keep  the  boats  off  the  rocks.  In  winter  it  had  to  be 
sledded  over  ice  sometimes  piled  up  in  barriers,  sometimes 
filled  with  dangerous  pot  holes. 

The  most  remarkable  engineering  feat  on  the  route, 
though,  was  the  building  of  the  eleven-hundred-and-fifty- 
foot  bridge  across  the  river  between  the  Miles  and  the 
Childs  glaciers.  For  a time  the  fate  of  the  million-and- 
a-half-dollar  investment  hung  by  a hair.  Thousands  of 
piles  driven  deep  into  the  bottom  of  the  river  and  frozen 
into  seven  feet  of  ice  formed  the  temporary  foundation 
of  the  third  and  last  span.  The  bridge  builders  were 
working  with  breathless  haste  to  beat  the  spring  thaw. 
Before  they  had  a chance  to  make  fast  the  last  span,  the 
ice  began  to  move,  carrying  the  span  with  it.  While  one 
gang  chopped  the  ice  with  axes,  and  melted  it  with  steam 
pipes,  another,  with  block  and  tackle,  not  only  stopped 
the  moving  span,  but  inch  by  inch  dragged  it  back  into 
place  where  at  last  it  was  bolted  and  riveted.  Now 
around  each  pier  is  a row  of  eighty-pound  rails  one  foot 
apart  to  act  as  an  ice  breaker. 

Like  the  White  Pass  line,  the  Copper  River  Railway  was 
built  for  business  reasons  and  it  went  straight  ahead  in 
the  face  of  these  enormous  difficulties.  Construction 
began  in  1906  and  the  one  hundred  and  ninety-six  miles 
of  track  was  completed  five  years  later.  The  total  cost 

300 


The  Copper  River  Railway  is  the  only  line  in  the  world  that  carries  its 
passengers  right  to  the  foot  of  magnificent  glaciers.  The  river  runs  be- 
tween Miles  and  Childs  glaciers,  each  of  which  has  a front  of  ice  three 
miles  wide. 


One  of  the  most  beautiful  trips  in  the  world  is  through  the  Keystone 
Canyon  from  Valdez  to  Chitina,  and  thence  down  the  Copper  River  Rail- 
way to  Cordova. 


ON  THE  COPPER  RIVER  RAILWAY 


was  twenty  million  dollars,  or  about  one  hundred  thousand 
dollars  a mile,  but  the  road  has  paid,  for  the  route  taps 
the  Wrangell  Range,  the  richest  known  mineral  section 
of  Alaska.  This  range  has  gold,  copper,  and  silver,  and 
the  finest  copper  mines  of  the  world. 


301 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII 


women  on  America’s  last  frontier 

You  toast  the  men  of  Alaska, 

God  bless  them  every  one, 

They  gave  their  best,  they  stood  the  test. 

Of  the  Land  of  the  Midnight  Sun. 

But  what  of  that  brave  woman 
Who  mushed  close  by  their  side 
She  took  the  trail  (they  thought  her  frail). 

All  hardships  she  decried. 

The  sweetheart,  wife,  or  mother, 

She  came  for  love  alone, 

She  stifled  fear,  fought  back  each  tear. 

And  built  anew  the  home. 

A toast  to  the  Alaska  woman 
From  Ketchikan  to  Nome, 

She’s  worth  more  gold  than  earth  can  hold, 

A toast  to  woman — home. 

I QUOTE  these  lines  from  the  club  book  of  the  Kegoayah 
Kozga,  or  Northern  Lights,  the  name  of  the  up-and- 
coming  women’s  club  of  Nome.  This  club  reflects 
the  dawn  of  woman’s  work  in  northern  Alaska.  The 
Kegoayah  Kozga  has  its  own  house,  a delightful  little 
cottage  on  one  of  the  main  streets  of  Nome,  and  even  has 
a surplus  in  its  treasury.  It  has  its  civic  events,  its 
clean-up  day,  its  annual  entertainment  for  husbands  of 
the  members,  and  its  yearly  farewell  party  for  those 

302 


WOMEN  ON  AMERICA’S  LAST  FRONTIER 


going  “outside”  for  the  winter.  Its  study  classes  run 
throughout  the  year.  The  women  who  belong  to  it  are 
typical  of  the  cultured  women  in  other  parts  of  the 
territory.  They  are  well  dressed,  well  bred,  and  well 
educated.  Not  a few  are  college  graduates,  and  all  are 
more  hospitable  than  is  common  throughout  the  States. 
Many  of  them  have  lived  in  Alaska  for  years  and  their 
stories  of  conditions,  present  and  past,  are  especially 
interesting. 

It  was  not  until  1898,  when  gold  was  discovered  in  the 
Klondike,  that  many  women  came  to  Alaska.  Those  who 
were  here  before  that  were  chiefly  the  wives  of  govern- 
ment officials  or  of  officers  of  the  army  and  navy,  some  of 
whom  lived  at  the  posts  and  others  at  the  chief  towns 
along  the  coast.  There  were  also  the  wives  of  mission- 
aries at  Sitka  and  other  places  in  Southeastern  Alaska, 
and  occasionally  the  wife  of  a sea  captain  or  trapper. 

The  first  woman  to  establish  a home  on  Cook  Inlet  was 
Mother  White,  the  wife  of  a whaler  who  made  voyages 
to  Bering  Sea  and  the  Arctic  Ocean.  She  built  a log 
cabin  store  and  roadhouse  on  the  shore  about  two  hundred 
miles  from  the  site  of  the  new  town  of  Anchorage.  There 
Miss  Martha  White  was  born,  the  first  white  child  to  see 
the  light  of  day  in  that  part  of  the  world.  When  the 
work  began  on  the  government  railway  she  was  chosen  to 
drive  the  first  spike. 

It  is  more  than  twenty  years  since  Mrs.  White  estab- 
lished her  store  and  roadhouse.  She  dealt  with  the 
Indians  and  trappers,  and  later  on  started  a fish  cannery 
and  saltery.  In  one  year  she  put  up  two  thousand  barrels 
of  salted  salmon.  She  made  considerable  money,  which 
she  invested  in  mining.  She  went  in  the  gold  stampede  to 

303 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


Sunrise,  on  Turnagain  Arm,  where  she  made  so  much 
that  she  might  have  retired  in  comfort.  Then  bad  luck 
came.  She  put  her  winnings  into  unsuccessful  properties 
and  lost  them.  She  went  back  to  the  roadhouse  business 
and  established  little  hotels  at  Hope  City  and  Sunrise. 
These  were  a success  and  she  gradually  accumulated  some 
property.  In  the  meantime,  her  daughter  was  growing 
up  and  Mother  White  decided  to  leave  Alaska  and  go 
to  the  States  to  educate  her.  She  moved  to  Chicago  and 
opened  a little  store  there,  which  supported  her  until 
Martha’s  education  was  finished. 

And  then  came  that  longing  to  go  back  to  Alaska  that 
permeates  the  souls  of  all  who  have  made  their  homes  here. 
It  so  obsessed  Mrs.  White  that  she  left  her  daughter  in 
Chicago  and  went  alone  to  the  North.  With  tears  in  her 
eyes,  she  told  me  how  she  went  back  to  the  mining  camps 
of  Hope  and  Sunrise.  Many  of  the  old  prospectors  whom 
she  had  known  were  still  there,  and  she  felt  that  here  were 
her  friends  and  her  home.  She  returned  to  Chicago  to 
get  her  daughter,  and  when  the  work  on  the  Alaskan  Rail- 
road began  she  was  one  of  the  first  on  the  ground  at  the 
new  town  of  Anchorage.  She  came  in  with  a stock  of 
lumber  and  canvas,  and  before  a rail  was  laid  or  any 
excavation  begun  she  had  put  up  tents  down  on  the  flats 
for  eating  and  lodging.  Her  sleeping  tent  was  equipped 
with  bunks  one  over  the  other,  like  those  of  a sleeping 
car,  and  each  bed  brought  her  a dollar  a night.  When  the 
new  site  for  Anchorage  was  chosen,  she  built  a frame  hotel 
on  the  main  street. 

Another  woman  who  has  made  good  in  Alaska  is  Mrs. 
Harriet  Pullen  of  Pullen  House,  at  which  I stopped  in 
Skagway.  By  her  kindness  to  the  old  miners  and  stranded 

304 


Martha  White,  the  first  white  child  born  on  Cook  Inlet,  was  chosen  to 
drive  the  initial  spike  in  the  Government  Railway. 


The  Alaska  homesteader  and  his  wife  have  no  easy  job.  Both  should 
be  young,  strong,  and  prepared  to  do  everything  for  themselves,  as  help  is 
usually  scarce  at  wages  always  higher  than  in  the  States. 


“1  had  delicious  hot  waffles,  butter,  and  syrup  at  the  Two  Girls’  Waffle 
House.  The  proprietors  came  from  Seattle  to  Anchorage  just  at  its 
beginning  and  set  up  a shack  on  the  flats.” 


WOMEN  ON  AMERICA’S  LAST  FRONTIER 


prospectors  she  has  earned  the  title  of  “Mother  of  the 
North.”  Mrs.  Pullen  came  to  Skagway  at  the  time  of 
the  gold  rush  to  the  Klondike.  The  daughter  of  a well- 
to-do  settler  on  Puget  Sound,  she  was  a widow  with  three 
little  sons  at  the  time  gold  was  discovered.  She  decided 
to  go  to  the  gold  mines.  She  was  almost  penniless  when 
she  landed  in  Alaska,  and  when  a miner  came  to  the 
steamer  to  hire  a cook  for  his  camp  she  asked  for  the  job 
and  got  it.  She  did  well  there,  and  later  on  became  the 
cook  for  a boarding  house,  where  her  sourdough  flapjacks, 
soda  biscuits,  and  apple  pies,  were  soon  famous.  Seeing 
that  big  money  was  being  made  in  freighting  goods  over 
the  mountains,  she  sent  her  first  savings  back  to  Seattle 
and  brought  in  six  horses  from  her  father’s  farm.  She 
also  imported  a wagon,  and  started  freighting  over  the 
trail.  She  drove  the  horses  herself,  making  her  customers 
load  their  own  goods.  She  got  such  high  rates  that  she 
was  soon  clearing  twenty-five  dollars  a day. 

At  the  end  of  the  first  season  she  was  one  thousand 
dollars  ahead,  and  this  gave  her  enough  to  build  a cottage 
and  start  a hotel.  From  that  time  on  she  has  been  able 
not  only  to  live  well  and  make  money,  but  to  give  her 
children  as  good  an  education  as  our  country  affords. 
The  boys  went  to  school  in  Skagway,  where  they  worked 
at  odd  hours  and  during  vacation  to  help  their  mother. 
Later  they  were  sent  to  the  United  States  to  college. 
The  youngest  boy  was  drowned  at  Juneau.  One  of  the 
other  two  was  the  first  appointee  from  Alaska  to  West 
Point,  and  another  graduated  at  the  University  of  Wash- 
ington. Both  sons  did  valiant  service  in  the  World  War. 
General  Pershing  said  he  wished  he  had  a regiment  of 
Pullens. 


305 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


Another  woman  came  north  from  Juneau,  where  she 
had  been  working  in  a laundry.  She  was  blonde,  forty- 
five  years  of  age,  but  so  stout  and  rugged  that  she  pulled 
her  own  sled,  weighing  two  hundred  and  fifty  pounds, 
from  Lake  Lindeman  through  to  Lake  Le  Barge,  and  made 
her  way  on  down  to  Circle  City.  She  started  a laundry 
and  bake  shop,  selling  her  bread  for  from  fifty  cents  to  a 
dollar  a loaf.  Later  on  she  came  to  the  Klondike  and 
staked  out  a claim  on  Eldorado  Creek,  from  which  she 
realized  three  hundred  thousand  dollars. 

The  women  of  the  gold  rush  days  did  all  sorts  of  things 
and  underwent  every  hardship  to  get  to  the  gold  mines. 
Many  were  stranded  at  Skagway  or  Dyea,  the  ports  at  the 
foot  of  the  mountains  over  which  the  trails  led  to  the  gold 
camps. 

One  woman  over  seventy-five  years  old  came  north 
with  the  rush.  She  had  no  money  to  get  over  the  trail,  so 
she  started  in  selling  newspapers  at  from  twenty-five  to 
fifty  cents  each,  the  current  prices  of  those  days.  She  was 
so  old  that  she  aroused  sympathy,  and  a rich  miner 
would  often  give  her  five  dollars  for  a paper  and  tell  her  to 
keep  the  change.  All  this  time  she  was  sleeping  in  a piano 
box  in  a little  cabin.  Friends,  fearing  she  would  freeze 
during  the  winter,  got  her  people  in  Montana  to  write  her 
to  come  home.  When  she  left  Skagway  she  had  two  thou- 
sand dollars  earned  in  her  newspaper  selling. 

The  old  type  of  roughly  dressed  frontier  woman  is 
rapidly  passing.  The  mining  of  the  rich  camps  is  going 
into  the  hands  of  large  capital,  and  there  are  but  few 
women  who  have  big  mining  investments.  Margaret 
Mitchell,  who  called  herself  the  Quartz  Queen  of  the 
Klondike,  believed  that  the  hundred  and  eighty-odd 

306 


WOMEN  ON  AMERICA’S  LAST  FRONTIER 


million  dollars’  worth  of  gold  that  has  been  washed  out  in 
grains  and  dust  from  the  creeks  and  basin  of  the  Klondike 
must  have  been  ground  off  from  rich  veins  near  by.  In  her 
search  for  the  mother  lodes,  for  years  she  took  up  and 
bought  quartz  claims.  Some  of  her  properties  are  said 
to  carry  good  values. 

Margaret  Mitchell  was  always  one  of  the  first  to  rush  to 
every  new  mining  field,  and  in  this  way  got  the  nickname, 
“Stampede  Mag.”  She  also  watched  out  for  claims  that 
lapsed  through  the  carelessness  of  owners  in  failing  to  do 
the  assessment  work  annually  required.  Every  now  and 
then  she  picked  up  a valuable  claim,  and  sometimes  one 
belonging  to  the  big  capitalists.  I understand  that  when 
she  jumped  one  such  claim  the  millionaires  had  to  pay 
her  six  thousand  dollars  before  she  would  release  the 
new  title  thus  acquired.  I met  “Stampede”  Mitchell  and 
found  her  a bronze-faced,  energetic  woman  of  middle  age, 
with  a firm  faith  in  the  existence  of  quartz  gold  in  the  upper 
Yukon. 

At  Anchorage  I often  breakfasted  at  the  “Two  Girls’ 
Waffle  House.”  The  “Two  Girls”  were  bright-eyed, 
rosy-cheeked,  plump  young  women  who  came  from  Seattle 
to  Anchorage  when  it  was  first  started  and  opened  an  eat- 
ing place  on  the  flats.  When  the  town  was  moved  to  the 
hills  they  put  their  house  on  a wagon  and  moved  with 
the  times.  Whenever  I went  to  meals  at  their  place 
the  counter  was  filled,  for  their  waffles  served  hot 
from  the  griddle  with  plenty  of  good  butter,  syrup, 
and  coffee  were  enough  to  make  a hungry  man’s  mouth 
water. 

I found  many  other  women  in  business  at  Anchorage. 
Some  were  typists,  others  clerks  in  stores,  and  others 

307 


ALASKA— OUR  NORTHERN  WONDERLAND 


proprietors  of  shops  of  their  own.  There  was  a woman 
barber  on  Fourth  Street  and  one  of  the  best  dry-goods 
and  notions  stores  in  town  was  kept  by  a pretty  red- 
haired  girl  under  thirty.  Another  young  lady  who  had 
come  up  from  Illinois  and  was  staying  at  my  hotel  told 
me  she  had  always  pined  for  the  free  life  of  the  North 
and  was  going  to  open  a millinery  shop.  She  had  a 
thousand  dollars’  worth  of  stock  coming  up  from  the 
States. 

The  larger  towns  of  the  Alaska  of  to-day  have  perhaps 
one  half  as  many  women  as  men.  The  tents  and  the 
shacks  of  the  past  have  given  place  to  comfortable  homes 
with  gardens  and  flowers,  and  the  social  conditions  are  not 
far  different  from  those  of  the  towns  of  the  States.  Every 
town  of  any  size  has  a women’s  club  like  that  at  Nome. 
The  Juneau  Women’s  Club  recently  gave  a reception  to 
the  Women’s  Club  of  Douglas  Island.  It  was  held  in  the 
city  hall,  and  among  the  papers  read  was  one  on  English 
literature,  another  on  the  cathedral  towns  of  Europe,  and 
a third  on  early  English  with  readings  from  Chaucer. 

The  Fairbanks  Club  has  been  especially  interested  in 
civic  matters.  Its  members  write  editorials  for  the  local 
newspapers  on  how  to  improve  sanitary  and  educational 
conditions;  and  they  have  done  a great  deal  to  help  the 
town.  The  same  is  true  of  every  women’s  club  in  the 
country  from  Ketchikan  to  Nome. 

The  clubs  keep  close  watch  on  the  schools,  and  all  of 
them  are  more  or  less  literary  in  character.  The  women 
of  Alaska  come  from  all  parts  of  the  world,  and  many  of 
them  have  travelled  extensively.  They  have  broad 
ideas  of  public  affairs  and  their  discussions  take  a wide 
range. 


308 


WOMEN  ON  AMERICA’S  LAST  FRONTIER 


But  it  seems  to  me  I could  write  forever  about  Alaska. 
I have  travelled  widely  over  the  world,  visiting  all  the 
continents  and  most  of  the  countries,  but  I have  yet  to 
find  a place  more  delightful  or  more  interesting  than 
our  mighty  land  of  the  North. 

It  is  said  of  the  River  Nile  that  he  who  drinks  of  its 
waters  always  comes  back  to  Egypt.  I feel  much  the 
same  about  Alaska.  Most  of  the  prospectors,  tourists, 
and  travellers  whom  1 have  met  in  these  journeys  are  mak- 
ing their  second  or  third  visit  to  these  wonderful  wilds. 
Just  where  the  charm  lies  it  is  hard  to  say.  It  may  be  in 
the  air,  which  fills  one’s  lungs  with  such  invigoration  that 
one  seems  to  be  breathing  champagne;  it  may  be  in  the 
scenery,  which  is  equal  to  any  in  New  Zealand  or  Switzer- 
land; or  in  the  wildness  which  gives  one  the  sensation  of 
being  an  original  explorer,  like  Christopher  Columbus,  or 
Hernando  de  Soto.  The  magic  of  Alaska  is  perhaps  best 
expressed  by  Robert  Service’s  “Spell  of  the  Yukon.” 

There’s  a land  where  the  mountains  are  nameless, 

And  the  rivers  all  run  God  knows  where; 

There  are  lives  that  are  erring  and  aimless 
And  deaths  that  just  hang  by  a hair; 

There  are  hardships  that  nobody  reckons; 

There  are  valleys  unpeopled  and  still; 

There’s  a land — oh,  it  beckons  and  beckons. 

And  1 want  to  go  back — and  I will. 


THE  END 


309 


BIBLIOGRAPHY 


The  standard  historical  works  on  Alaska  are  the: 
volume  on  Alaska  in  Hubert  Howe  Bancroft’s  “His- 
tory of  the  Pacific  States”  and  William  Healy  Dali’s 
“Alaska  and  Its  Resources.”  A standard  guide  book 
is  the  “Rand  McNally  Guide  to  Alaska  and  the  Yukon,” 
first  published  in  1922.  Following  is  a selected  list  of 
recent  works: 

Browne,  Belmore.  “Conquest  of  Mount  McKinley.”  New  York, 
19'3- 

Burr,  A.  R.  "Alaska,  Our  Beautiful  Northland  of  Opportunity.” 
Boston,  1919. 

Cameron,  Charlotte.  “A  Cheechako  in  Alaska  and  Yukon.” 
New  York,  1920. 

De  Windt,  H.  “Through  the  Gold  Fields  of  Alaska.”  New  York, 
1898. 

Dole,  N.  H.  “Our  Northern  Domain.”  Boston,  1910. 

Dunning,  W.  A.  “ Paying  for  Alaska.”  New  York,  1912. 

Gordon,  G.  B.  “In  the  Alaskan  Wilderness.”  Philadelphia,  1918. 
Heilprin,  Angelo.  “Alaska  and  the  Klondike.”  New  York,  1899. 
Higginson,  Elia.  "Alaska,  the  Great  Country.”  New  York,  1909. 
Jones,  E.  L.  “A  Study  of  the  Thlingets  of  Alaska.”  New  York, 
>9'4- 

Kent,  Rockwell.  “Wilderness:  A Journal  of  Quiet  Adventure  in 
Alaska.”  London,  1920. 

Muir,  John.  “Travels  in  Alaska.”  New  York,  191 5. 

Powell,  Addison.  “Trailing  and  Camping  in  Alaska.”  New  York. 
1909. 

Scull,  E.  M.  "Hunting  in  the  Arctic  and  Alaska.”  Philadelphia, 
1909. 

Sheldon,  Charles.  “The  Wilderness  of  the  Upper  Yukon.”  New 
York,  19 1 1. 


BIBLIOGRAPHY 


Stephenson,  W.  B.,  Jr.  “Land  of  Tomorrow.”  New  York,  1919. 
Stuck,  Hudson.  “Ten  Thousand  Miles  with  a Dog  Sled.”  New 
York,  1914. 

“The  Ascent  of  Denali.”  New  York,  1914. 

“Voyages  on  the  Yukon  and  Its  Tributaries.”  New  York,  1917. 
“A  Winter  Circuit  of  Our  Arctic  Coast.”  New  York,  1920. 
Underwood,  J.  J.  “Alaska  an ‘Empire  in  the  Making.’ ” New  York, 
1920. 

Young,  S.  H.  “Alaska  Days  with  John  Muir.”  New  York,  1915. 
“Adventure  in  Alaska.”  New  York,  1919. 

The  nine  departments  of  the  National  Government  and 
the  twenty-three  separate  offices  or  bureaus  having 
duties  and  controls  in  Alaska  are  a prolific  source  of 
information  on  the  territory.  An  exhaustive  list  of  their 
publications  may  be  had  on  application  to  the  Superin- 
tendent of  Documents,  Government  Printing  Office, 
Washington,  D.  C.  The  following  government  documents 
deserve  especial  mention: 

Interior  Department:  Annual  Report  of  the  Governor  of  Alaska. 

General  Information  Regarding  Alaska. 

Geological  Survey:  Future  of  Alaska  Mining  and  the  Alaskan 
Mining  Industry  in  1919,  by  Alfred  H.  Brooks  and  H.  V.  Martin. 
Bull.  714. 

Alaskan  Mining  Industry  in  1920,  by  Alfred  H.  Brooks.  Bull. 
722. 

Bureau  of  Fisheries:  Alaska  Fishery  and  Fur-Seal  Industries  in 
1920,  by  Ward  T.  Bower.  Document  No.  909. 

Pacific  Salmon  Fisheries,  by  John  N.  Cobb.  Document  No.  902. 
Department  of  Agriculture:  Annual  Report  of  the  Alaska  Agri- 
cultural Experiment  Stations. 

Bureau  of  American  Ethnology:  Eskimo  about  Bering  Sea.  1 8th 

Ethnology  Report.  1897.  Part  1. 

Thlinget  Myths  and  Texts,  by  John  R.  Swanton.  Ethnology 
Bull.  39. 

Social  Conditions,  Beliefs,  and  Linguistic  Relationship  of  the 
Thlinget  Indians.  26th  Ethnology  Report. 

312 


INDEX 


INDEX 


Agriculture,  future  of,  in  Alaska,  60. 

Akutan  Island,  whalingstation  on,244. 

Alaska,  how  named,  40. 

Alaska  Anthracite  Railroad,  new 
coal  developments  of  the,  280. 

Alaska  Commercial  Company,  activi- 
ties of,  143;  fur  seal  monopoly  of, 
232. 

Alaska  Engineering  Commission,  per- 
sonnel, 272;  their  work  at  Anchor- 
age, 275. 

Alaska-Gastineau  mines,  78. 

Aleutian  Islands,  development  of  the, 
239- 

All- Alaska  Sweepstakes,  the,  198. 

Allan,  Scotty,  saved  by  his  lead  dog, 
203. 

Anchorage,  a live  railroad  town,  273, 
274. 

Anderson,  Peter,  one  of  first  party  to 
climb  Mt.  McKinley,  285. 

Andreafski,  fuel  oil  tank  at,  for  Yukon 
steamers,  181. 

Annette  Island,  Father  Duncan’s  work 
with  Indians  of,  13. 

Annette  Island  Reservation  of  Met- 
lakahtla  Indians,  17. 

Anvik,  Indian  settlement  on  Lower 
Yukon,  181. 

Athapascans,  and  sub  tribes,  the, 
44;  visited  on  the  Yukon,  117. 

Ayer,  Fred  M.,  mining  engineer  and 
owner  of  racing  dogs,  198,  199. 

Baker  Hot  Springs,  visit  to  the,  133. 

Baldy  of  Nome,  famous  sledge  dog, 
203. 

Baranof,  Russian  Governor  of  Alaska, 
33;  fur  trading  stations  of,  in  Cali- 
fornia, 37;  establishes  first  Russian 
colony  at  Kodiak,  37. 

Basket  work,  Indian,  104. 

Beach,  Rex,  his  old  home  at  Rampart, 
'51- 

Bear  cubs  as  pets,  12 1. 

Bears,  in  many  varieties,  267. 

Belle  Island  Hot  Springs,  133. 

3 


Beraud,  G.  E.,  noted  assayer  and 
chemist,  163. 

Bering,  explorations  in  Alaska  waters, 
36- 

Bering  Sea,  size  and  climatic  condi- 
tions, 239. 

Betting  on  the  spring  ice-break,  129. 

Birch,  Stephen  A.,  story  of  discovery 
of  Kennecott  copper  mines,  290. 

Boundary,  U.  S.  Signal  Corps  station 
at,  119. 

Brackett,  George  A.,  toll-road  builder, 
m. 

British  explorations  along  coast  of 
Alaska,  36. 

Broad  Pass,  a promising  mining  dis- 
trict, 278. 

Brooks,  De-Alfred  H.  estimate  of 
gold  output,  1 9 1 ; survey  of  Mt. 
McKinley  region,  284. 

Browne,  Belmore,  attempts  to  climb 
Mt.  McKinley,  282,  286,  287. 

Bryntesen,  John,  gold  miner,  191,  192. 

Burckhardt,  C.  A.,  successful  garden 
of,  62. 

Burial  customs,  native,  55. 

Burials,  in  solid  ice,  132. 

Cadzo,  Dan,  and  his  home  in  the 
wilderness,  122. 

Canadian  Mounted  Police,  not  ham- 
pered by  red  tape,  171. 

/Canneries,  salmon,  2 1 ; process  of 
dressing  and  canning,  26. 

Cannibalism  among  the  coast  Indians, 
14. 

Carcross,  on  crest  of  the  Divide,  113. 

Caribou,  abundance  of,  264. 

Cats,  necessary  in  fox  farming,  237. 

Central  heating,  at  Fairbanks,  145. 

Charitableness  in  Alaska,  166,  172. 

Chatanika,  mining  at,  by  steam  thaw- 
ing of  ice  layer,  1 59. 

Childs  Glacier,  reached  by  Copper 
River  Railway,  297. 

Chilkats,  advancement  of  the,  46. 

•5 


INDEX 


Circle  City,  the  almost  deserted 
village,  120. 

Civilization  among  the  Indians,  ef- 
forts for,  47. 

Climate,  variableness  of,  1,  10,  43; 
of  Sitka,  32;  Aleutian  Islands,  66, 
243;  Juneau,  72;  Skagway,  97; 
White  Horse,  Yukon  Territory,  1 10; 
Tanana,  125 ; Fairbanks,  1 54;  Nome, 
i89;Seward,  254;.an  Alaska  woman’s 
opinion  of,  131. 

Coal  fields,  development  of  the,  279. 

Coast  Survey,  work  in  behalf  of  naviga- 
tion, 7. 

Cod  fisheries,  extent  of,  30. 

Cook,  Captain,  early  explorations 
along  Alaskan  coast,  36. 

Cook,  Dr.  Frederick,  claims  to  have 
made  ascent  of  Mt.  McKinley,  285. 

Copper  deposits,  the  story  of  Kenne- 
cott,  289. 

Copper  River  Railway,  the  country 
along  the,  296. 

Cordova  on  the  Copper  River  Rail- 
way, 296. 

Cremation  among  Indian  tribes,  45,  55. 

Crime,  extent  of,  in  Alaska,  172. 

Cyanide  process  of  gold  extraction,  86. 

Dahlia  growing  at  Skagway,  97. 

Dairy  farming,  possibilities  in,  65. 

Davis,  General  Jefferson  C.,  in 
command  of  troops  at  transfer  of 
Alaska  to  the  United  States,  40. 

Dawson,  time  of  opening  and  clos- 
ing of  navigation,  129;  the  gold 
rush  to,  hi. 

Dehn,  Judge,  U.  S.  Commissioner  at 
Tanana,  on  the  climate,  125. 

Deckey,  W.  A.,  names  Mt.  McKinley, 
284. 

Diomede  Island,  catch  of  fur  sold  in 
Alaska  markets,  218. 

Dog  races,  the  Derby  of  Alaska,  197. 

Dogs,  the  motive  power,  197,  et  seq. 

Douglas  Island,  under-sea  gold  mining 
at,  78. 

Duncan,  Father  William,  work  with 
the  Indians  at  Metlakahtla,  13. 

Dyea,  city  of,  now  farm  land,  99. 

Eagle,  first  American  town  on  the 
Yukon,  1 19. 

Edes,  W.  C.,  on  Alaska  Engineering 
commission,  272. 


Eldridge,  George,  explorations  on  Mt. 
McKinley,  284. 

Erwin,  L.  T.,  U.  S.  Marshal  at  Fair- 
banks, reminiscences  of,  165,  170. 
Eskimos,  customs  and  progress  of  the, 
214;  schools  and  self-government, 
222. 

Experiment  station  work,  in  finding 
suitable  crops,  149. 

Explorations  by  Russians,  British,  and 
Spaniards,  36. 

Farming,  teaching  of,  among  natives, 
49;  the  promising  future,  60;  in  the 
Tanana  valley,  148. 

Fairbanks,  astonishing  growth  of,  139; 

richest  of  gold-mining  districts,  1 56. 
Fairbanks  Experiment  Station,  suc- 
cess of,  60,  1 49. 

Fink,  Albert,  founder  of  Nome  Kennel 
Club,  200. 

Fisheries,  extent  of,  21. 

Flowers,  wild,  of  Southeastern  Alaska, 

61. 

Forests,  extent  of,  61. 

Fort  Gibbon,  U.  S.  army  post,  124. 
Fort  Yukon,  now  mainly  a fur-trading 
post,  122. 

, Fox  farming,  a growing  industry,  236. 
Fruits,  wild,  of  Southeastern  Alaska, 

62. 

Fur  seal,  habits  and  range  of  the,  232. 
Fur  seal  industry  of  the  Pribilof 
Islands,  230. 

Game,  abundance  of,  on  Kenai  Pen- 
insula, 260,263;  hunting  restrictions, 
263. 

Game  preserve  of  Mt.  McKinley 
Park,  287. 

Gardening,  at  Nome,  187. 

Georgeson,  Professor,  in  charge  of 
Agricultural  Experiment  work  in 
Alaska,  64. 

Glaciers,  the  world’s  greatest,  87. 
Gold,  yield  from  Yukon  Basin,  156. 
Gold  mining  under  the  sea,  at  Douglas 
Island,  78. 

Goods  for  Alaska  trade,  144. 

Gray,  Captain,  early  visit  to  Alaska,  37. 
Griggs,  Prof.  Robert  F.,  discovers 
“ Valley  of  Ten  Thousand  Smokes,  ” 
247- 

Grub  staking,  with  good  and  bad 
results,  1 58. 

3 1 6 


INDEX 


Guggenheim  mines,  in  Iditarod  dis- 
trict, 1 8 1 . 

Halibut  fisheries  of  Southeastern 
Alaska,  22,  27. 

Hay,  high  price  of,  in  mining  regions, 
135- 

Herring  fisheries,  extent  of,  29. 

History  of  Alaska  and  its  purchase  by 
the  United  States,  32  et  seq. 

Holy  Cross  Mission,  on  Lower  Yukon, 
181. 

Homestead  farming,  possibilities  of, 
66;  not  recommended,  138. 

Homesteading  under  the  Arctic  Circle, 
148. 

Hot  springs,  visits  to,  133. 

Hydahs,  customs  of  the,  44;  remark- 
able progress  of,  47. 

Hydraulic  mining  in  glacial  ice,  193. 

Iditarod  district,  gold  mines  of  the, 
181. 

Indian  cemetery  at  Nulato,  179. 

Indian  tribes,  of  Alaska,  the,  44. 

Inside  Passage,  travel  through  the,  6. 

Ivory  carving  of  the  Eskimos,  219, 
220. 

Jones,  Dr.  Lester,  on  troubles  of  the 
Aleuts,  243. 

Juneau,  impressions  of,  69;  as  a gold- 
mining centre  78. 

Kaltag,  trading  post  on  Lower  Yukon, 
180. 

Kantishna,  mining  district  of,  278. 

Karstens,  Harry,  with  Archdeacon 
Stuck  in  ascent  of  Mt.  McKinley, 
286. 

Katmai,  Mount,  explorations  of  vol- 
cano on,  247. 

Kenai  Peninsula,  horseback  trip 
across,  236. 

Kennecott  copper  mines,  the  story  of, 
289. 

Ketchikan,  the  post  of,  5,  8. 

Kivalina,  school  republic  at,  226. 

Klukwan  Indians,  advancement  of 
the,  46,  47. 

Kodiak,  first  Russian  colony  estab- 
lished at,  37. 

Kodiak  Island,  cattle  raising  on,  245; 
heavy  fall  of  volcanic  ash  on,  246. 

Latouche  copper  mine,  discovery  of, 
293. 


Lindbloom,  Erik,  gold  miner,  191,  192. 

Lindeberg,  Jafet,  gold  miner,  sports- 
man, and  capitalist,  191,199,  206. 

Lloyd,  Thomas,  one  of  first  party  to 
climb  Mt.  McKinley,  285. 

Log  Cabin  Club,  the,  at  Nome,  186. 

Lopp,  William  T.,  pioneer  in  reindeer 
introduction,  209;  Chief  of  Alaskan 
Division  of  Bureau  of  Education, 
222. 

Lord’s  Prayer,  in Tsimpsean  language, 
20. 

McGonogill,  Charles,  one  of  first  party 
to  climb  Mt.  McKinley,  285. 

Mail  service,  in  winter,  132. 

Maksutoff,  Prince,  at  ceremony  of 
transfer  to  the  United  States,  41. 

Malaspina  Glacier,  size  of,  94;  effect 
of  earthquake  on,  95. 

Marriage  customs  of  natives,  53,57. 

Mastodon  and  other  pre-historic 
animals,  preserved  in  arctic  ice, 
12 1,2 19. 

Matanuska  Agricultural  Experiment 
Station,  60. 

Matanuska  coal  fields,  development 
of,  273,  274,  279. 

Mears,  Col.  Frederick,  chairman  of 
Alaska  Engineering  Commission, 
272. 

Meat  and  poultry  under  home  “cold 
storage,”  128 

Mendenhall  Glacier,  reached  by  auto- 
mobile, 91 . 

Metlakahtla,  Indian  town  established 
by  Father  Duncan,  13. 

Miles  Glacier,  reached  by  Copper 
River  Railway,  297. 

Mitchell,  Margaret,  success  in  gold 
mining,  306. 

Moose,  in  Kenai  Peninsula,  266;  in- 
fluence of  rabbits  on  quantity  of 
moose  in  a locality,  269. 

Mosquitoes,  prevalence  of,  74,  180. 

Mount  Edgecombe,  extinct  volcano, 
33- 

Mount  McKinley,  highest  in  North 
America,  42,  281. 

Mount  St.  Elias,  height  of,  42. 

Mount  Verstovia,  of  the  Holy  Cross, 
33- 

Mountain  sheep,  finest  of  Alaska 
game,  260,  266. 

Mountains  of  Alaska,  42. 


317 


INDEX 


Muir  Glacier,  movement  of,  94. 

Muldrow,  Robert,  survey  of  Mt. 
McKinley,  284. 

Nenana  coal  fields,  development  of, 
278,  279. 

Noatak,  school  republic  at,  227. 

Nolan  Mine,  a cleanup  at  the,  160. 

Nome,  the  City  of  Golden  Sands,  183 

Northern  Commercial  Company, 
activities  of,  143. 

Nulato,  Indian  cemetery  at,  179. 

Old  timers,  tales  of  the,  169. 

Panhandle,  the,  or  Southeastern 
Alaska,  5. 

Perez,  Juan,  Spanish  explorations  of, 
36. 

Photography  under  the  midnight  sun, 
122. 

Pinnacle  rocks,  charting  of  by  Coast 
and  Geodetic  Survey,  7. 

Point  Barrow,  industrial  school  for 
Eskimos,  227. 

Polygamy  formerly  prevalent  among 
natives,  57. 

Potatoes,  good  crops  in  the  Tanana 
valley,  1 50. 

Poultry  keeping,  difficulties  and  re- 
wards, 126. 

Pribilof  Islands,  fur  seal  industry  of 
the,  230;  government  fox  farms  on, 
236. 

Protective  coloration  of  Arctic  game 
animals  and  birds,  269. 

Pullen,  Mrs.  Harriet,  hotel  of,  at 
Skagway,  98;  makes  good  in  Alaska, 
304. 

Pup-mobile,  the  dog  car  railroad,  137, 
'97- 

Rabbits,  abundance  of,  269. 

Railroad,  government,  the  biggest 
thing  in  Alaska,  271. 

Rainfall,  excessive,  at  Ketchikan,  9; 
in  Southeastern  Alaska,  110;  scanty 
at  Fairbanks,  154;  excessive,  at 
Unalaska,  243. 

Rampart  Agricultural  Experiment 
Station,  60,  150,  151. 

Raven,  legend  of  the,  56. 

Red  tape,  U.  S.  Marshal’s  difficulties 
with,  171. 

Reindeer,  for  native  meat  supply  and 


shipment  to  the  States,  3,  205,  et 

seq. 

Resurrection  Bay,  early  history,  255. 

Reyburn,  D.  L.,  survey  of  Mt.  Mc- 
Kinley region,  284. 

Rhoads-Hall  mine,  discovery  of  the, 
162. 

Riggs,  Thomas,  Jr.,  on  Alaska  Engin- 
eering Commission,  272,  277. 

Rousseau,  General,  at  ceremony  of 
transfer  to  the  United  States,  41. 

Ruby,  mining  town  on  the  Lower 
Yukon,  178. 

Russian  occupation  of  Alaska,  32  et 
seq. 

Salmon,  abundance  of,  12;  spawning 
habits  of,  25. 

Salmon  fisheries  of  Southeastern 
Alaska,  21. 

Schofield,  G.  D.,  owner  of  farm  sub- 
irrigated by  hot  springs,  136. 

School  republics  of  the  Eskimo,  222. 

Seal,  fur,  habits  and  range  of  the,  232. 

Seal  industry  of  the  Pribilof  Islands, 
230. 

Seward,  City  of,  situation  and  develop- 
ment, 250. 

Seward,  William  H,  as  Secretary  of 
State  negotiates  purchase  of  Alaska, 
39- 

Seward,  Agricultural  Experiment  Sta- 
tion, 60. 

Sheldon,  Charles,  explorations  of  Mt. 
McKinley  region,  283,  288. 

Sitka,  history,  climate,  and  location, 
32. 

Sitka  Agricultural  Experiment  Station, 
60,  63. 

Skagway,  gate  to  the  Klondike,  96; 
“Flower  City  of  Alaska,”  97. 

Slavery,  among  the  natives,  57. 

Smith,  Jack,  with  Clarence  Warner 
discovers  Kennecott  copper  deposits, 
291. 

Smith,  "Soapy,”  career  at  Skagway, 

10 1 . 

Southeastern  Alaska,  the  Panhandle, 
5- 

Spanish  explorations  along  coast  of 
Alaska,  36. 

Steam  thawing  of  ice,  in  prospecting 
for  gold,  158. 

Still,  crude,  used  by  Eskimos  for  mak- 
ing alcohol,  224. 


3.8 


INDEX 


StoeckI,  Baron,  Russian  ambassador, 
negotiates  sale  of  Alaska  to  the 
United  States,  39. 

Strawberries,  success  with,  at  Sitka, 
63. 

Strong,  H.  C.,  success  with  raspberries 
at  Ketchikan,  9. 

Stuck,  Archdeacon,  first  climbs  highest 
peak  of  Mt.  McKinley,  286. 

Sumner,  Charles,  suggests  name 
Alaska  for  the  new  territory,  40. 

Taku  Glacier,  movement  of,  88. 

Tanana,  the  hub  of  Alaska,  124. 

Tanana  River,  heavy  with  silt,  137; 
agricultural  land  along  the,  138, 
139. 

Tanana  valley,  farming  in  the,  148. 

Taylor,  William,  one  of  first  party  to 
climb  Mt.  McKinley,  285. 

Tenakee  Hot  Springs,  133. 

Terrill,  Monte,  an  old  timer,  169. 

Thlingets,  and  sub  tribes,  44  et  seq.; 
legends  of  the  Creation  and  the 
Flood,  56. 

Totem  poles,  and  their  meaning,  52. 

Trade  of  Alaska,  importance  of,  147. 

Treadwell  mines,  78. 

Tsimpsean  Indians,  Father  Duncan’s 
work  with,  13. 

Tuberculosis,  extent  of,  among  natives, 
49- 

Turkeys,  driven  in  overland,  167. 

Unalaska,  excessive  rainfall  at,  243. 

Unimak  Island,  active  volcanoes  on, 
241;  largest  of  the  Aleutian  group, 
242. 

“Valley  of  Ten  Thousand  Smokes/' 
discovery  of,  247. 

Vegetables,  production  of,  3;  raised  by 
aid  of  hot  springs,  134,  136;  home 
gardens  at  Fairbanks,  142;  in  Tan- 


ana valley,  150;  gardens  along  the 
Lower  Yukon,  178. 

Volcanic  ash  deposit  on  Kodiak  Is- 
land, 246. 

Volcanoes,  of  the  Aleutian  Islands, 
241. 

Wainwright,  Eskimo  school  republic 
at,  225. 

Walrus,  more  than  a match  for  the 
polar  bear,  268. 

Warner,  Clarence,  with  Jack  Smith 
discovers  Kennecott  copper  de- 
posits, 291 . 

Weber,  F.  J.,  dahlia  gardens  of,  at 
Skagway,  97. 

Western  Union  Telegraph  Company, 
early  explorations,  39. 

Whale  meat,  palatable  and  nutritious, 
244- 

Whaling  industry,  extent  of,  244. 

White,  Elmer  J.,  American  consul  at 
White  Horse,  112. 

White,  Miss  Martha,  first  white  child 
born  in  Alaska,  303. 

White,  Mrs.,  first  white  woman  to 
establish  a home  in  Alaska,  303. 

White  Pass  Railway,  construction  of 
the,  106. 

Wickersham,  James,  first  attempt  to 
climb  Mt.  McKinley,  284. 

Wild  flowers  of  Southeastern  Alaska, 
61 . 

Willow  Creek,  mining  town,  278. 

Women,  position  of  among  the  natives, 
54- 

Women  of  Alaska,  the,  302. 

Women’s  Clubs  of  Alaska,  308. 

Wood  carving,  Indian,  104. 

Wood  pulp,  timber  suitable  for,  61. 

Yak,  Tibetan,  introduction  of,  246. 

Yukon  Flats,  impression  of  the,  115. 

Yukon  River,  navigation  on,  129,  178. 


359 


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